Real Magic---an artist and his muse......

The connection between an artist and his "muse" has always been difficult to explain. An almost hypersensitive understanding between what the artist imagines and what the muse represents.
     The inspiration for my creativity for over 20 years has been the lovely lady shown here--Gabriella Delgado. I first saw her, with my dear friend Cindy, working as a waitress in a Sunset Strip bar. Cindy, who has always had a great eye for the unique and beautiful, pointed her out to me. When we asked, she told us that she had done a little bit of modeling and would be interested in "trying a few shots" with my jewelry. That first shoot was a total disaster. She, quite obviously, did NOT know what she was doing but her heart and spirit caught my attention-----we vowed to give it another try at some point. Years went by and we kept in touch. She proceeded from assorted modeling jobs in L.A. and New York to runway shows for YSL, Galliano and Jean-Paul Gaultier in Paris. One dreary early morning while I was in a hotel lobby near LAX, on my way to catch a plane to Milan, she dropped by on her way home from an all night modeling shoot. A cab pulled up and she stepped out in a light grey flannel YSL business suit with a wide brimmed black hat------LITERALLY everyone stopped and watched as she came in the door and ran over to give me a kiss on both cheeks. I had been very pleased but curious when she was determined to meet me so early in the morning but now I knew why-----she was no longer an amateur! We arranged to have her come to Maui for our "second chance" and the difference was amazing. She still had her great sense of humor and was like a playful gazelle----all arms and legs. While I was at the gym one morning, laying on the floor doing stomach "crunches", she returned from her run and came walking into the gym like she owned the place, lay down on the floor next to me and "crunched" along with me. We ended up laughing ourselves to tears. AND, my dog Lani LOVED her. 
   BUT-----when it came time to work, she suddenly switched, right in front of my eyes, from that playful personality I had first witnessed to the exotic beauty she had become. There was SUCH a dramatic difference that the photographer, a seasoned pro who had heard from me about the original difficulties years before, turned to me when there was a break in shooting, and simply opened his eyes wide and signaled a silent "WHEW!!"
   I found that, when creating new designs, I would think of how they would look on her. I long ago realized that my unique style, developed from years of designing with rare gems and pearls and "life in the islands"  was not for everyone. But, because of that understanding, I purposely tried to create a "crossover" blend that would suit a variety of clients. Gabriella helped with that concept. Was she Polynesian? Spanish? Italian? She could look all of those and possibly others---and that kind of "blend" was exactly what I wanted.





















 And, though we had a very close relationship, I always felt the need to keep a certain distance. Why? Simply to NOT risk damaging the unique bond. There was an ethereal quality to it. Something that I almost felt would disappear if touched. Over the years, she WOULD disappear, at times, into her own world---living in Paris---or New York---and then reappear and contact me. She came to Maui to visit a short time ago and we simply could not arrange the shoot we wanted. Amazingly, wanting an outdoor location for a change, it was overcast and stormy for the whole time. Having given up, she dropped by one afternoon and stretched out on the sofa. She dozed off with her head in my lap while I stroked that gorgeous mane of hair and told her stories about my days in Tahiti. As we sat there gazing out at the Pacific, the sun set in a golden glow of misty late afternoon rain. We ended up with no photos and, soon after she had gone, I moved to the mainland.
  Anyway-----I have not seen her for some time. A marriage fell apart for her and she is back to modeling---which means text messages and missed connections and the occasional "I've only got a few minutes" phone "conversations."

  My point to all of this?         I awoke the other night at about 2:30AM---wondering---why am I awake? I lay there and thought of her. Hadn't really for some time, but there she was---and I wondered where she was and how she was doing. I started to drift back to sleep.......AND......she was there lying next to me with her head on my shoulder----laughing that great laugh of hers with her hand on my chest....
  That "almost" feeling of having her here brought me completely awake. I lay there thinking...."I should leave her a message and let her know I was thinking of her" ...and then...."maybe a text"......but finally "No---and bother her at this time? Best to leave it." ......and fell back asleep.

At 8:14AM that same morning, I received THIS text message:

             "I hope you're smiling"  Gabriella

Now........THAT, in it's purest form, is "magic."

St. Mary's and the Roman Emperor......a different islands tale.

About 12 years ago, I was dating a Baroness. How that came about and the lead up to this tale will have to wait for another time. This story is about how our lives lead us down unknown paths and connect us in ways we can never predict...... So, yes, a Baroness. I will, throughout this tale, out of discretion, simply call her that--The Baroness. We had met during Carnivale in Venice and I had pursued her across Europe to her home in London. She never used that title and I only found out about it when her ex-husband introduced himself to me as Baron ________ of Austria...("But you can call me Nicky", he said) She was an English "lady" who had "married in" (as they say) and----oh well----as mentioned, another tale.
     After a month or so of long distance telephone calls and arrangements to meet here and there, I had returned to London, at her request, to see if her "connections" could establish some form of business for me there. She had arranged for me to stay at The London Outpost of the Carnegie Club. THE Carnegie Club is Skibo Castle in Scotland and is "members only." The "London Outpost" is a beautiful "grand" house, converted to hotel, near Sloane Square in London. With 11 rooms and suites it is a very elegant establishment. I soon found out HOW elegant when, after checking in and having my bags brought up to my suite by the Indian bellman, I had a knock on my door and, answering it, was introduced to "Your valet, sir, Jeremy." I assured him I did not need a "valet" and, thanking him, was about to close the door, when he stepped in and lifting one of my suitcases, carried it over to the closet. "Shall I prepare your clothes for this evening, sir?" he asked, noting "it IS part of the service..." I......let it be, and, relenting, said, "Of course." "Shall I fix you a drink, sir?" he asked. I said, "Yes---but---can I NOT be 'Sir?' How about calling me Tom? or if it is more proper, Thomas? "Thomas it is, sir" he said. And we both smiled and left it at that.
       I got used to it. The Baroness and I had numerous appointments in the next few days and it DID become comforting to know that the clothes I was going to wear any given evening were cleaned, pressed and laid out for me when I returned from our business excursions. So, when I informed Jeremy that I was going to be attending a private birthday party at a museum---with cocktails at The Ritz before, he, of course, asked "Formal? or Smart casual?" I had to say, "I'm not sure. I was told it was at St.Mary's, Lambeth. But it IS just a friend of a friends birthday party.....can I be 'stylish'? Is that 'smart casual?'" I had a pair of violet satiny/rayon slacks that I thought would "work", a white "cafe" shirt and a few pair of Prada shoes to choose from. He assured me that I would look "superior" and with a long Italian white scarf and my black leather overcoat,I must admit that I did just that. I went off to catch one of the famous London Cabs to The Ritz.
       I had been told "I'll meet you in the bar," so that was where I went. The Ritz is a GRAND hotel and the lobby was absolutely stunning. I walked up and down the length of it soaking it all in and finally stepped into the Rivoli Bar near the one end of the long entry hall. A flute of Champagne and all was well. About 10 minutes later, in swept The Baroness---with a large black trash bag. She was "steamed!" Apparently those famous London cabs were not too keen on having a lady with fireworks stuffed in a garbage bag in their back seat! She went on and on about having to explain that they WERE just fireworks and nothing more AND (I could only imagine the "turn" of the conversation and how she must have had a word or two for the cabbie. I was just beginning to get an indication of what dating a "Royal" could entail!) But her point was now "HOW are we going to get these to the party?" (holding up the bag in the bar at the Ritz Hotel and shaking it was NOT going to help the situation, I thought, but I had an idea) "I'll be right back," I said, and headed off to the front desk. There, I asked for, and was given (as it WAS raining outside) a large black umbrella. Returning to the bar and "Her Highness" I slightly opened the "brolly" and stuffing the bag down inside, pronounced us ready to go. She looked it up and down (and I held it next to the side of my black leather overcoat---"blending it in") and saying, "Brilliant!", we headed out to the cab station. One of the doorman hailed a cab for us and letting her lead the way in, I stepped in behind and quickly laid the bag down on the floor. Done. She looked at me with a big smile and leaning over gave me a kiss (I could just hear her thinking "This YANK does seem to know a trick or two")
        The birthday party was being held in St.Mary's Cathedral---now converted into a museum. The "main hall" had been taken over and was being used for the birthday party---drinks, dinner and music--for about 200 people. As The Baroness was the hostess, I was seated at a table of 8 with a seat open for her. She didn't sit, other than to introduce me, and then flitted off to make sure everything ran smoothly. That left me to explain that, yes, I was an American, and yes, I lived in Hawaii and ---etc etc. I soon found that I was not only unique in this crowd but a bit of a novelty. So I had a lot of explaining to do about "life in the States" and "tropics" living. (I was amazed to find that many of them had NO idea of where Hawaii was or anything about it!!)There were Artists and Architects and "designers" and ------others that I realized I should probably not ask "and what do YOU do?"---because I got the feeling they didn't "DO" anything....) The food was excellent and the wine superb and all and all it was a very pleasant evening.
       I had been talking with a tall, dark haired gentleman who seemed interested in my explanations about Maui and how I had chosen it after living in Tahiti on and off for years. Someone had asked "Doesn't Marlon Brando own an island down their?" I explained that, yes, he did , and continued on with assorted other "island life" stories. The tall gentleman was about my size and with a very distinct face and with a VERY British accent. (meaning not Cockney---as I was used to with my buddy Jackie Lomax---nor "lilting" ---as I was used to with a friend from Cornwall) This mans accent was very proper. In the middle of one of these conversations about "life in Maui", he suddenly asked, "Did you know Randy California?" I quickly responded, "You mean Randy California from the band 'Spirit'?" He said "YES! You know of them? I'm a HUGE fan. Didn't Randy California die in Maui? He went for a swim and never came back? Did you hear about that?" Now-----I was also a fan of Spirit and knew of this story but it was NOT on Maui (it was Molokai) and he had gotten caught in a "riptide" and drowned saving his son. I also knew that there was an amazing connection between Jimi Hendrix and Randy California and that Randy was actually supposed to be a member of Hendrix's "Blue Flame" band and was also supposed to have joined the Experience but Chas Chandler, the original manager of The Experience had nixed the idea. SO---we talked rock and roll and British music and the connections between Spirit and assorted British bands.
        "Can we all head outside for the fireworks, please?" was announced and then I heard "Let the American do it, let the American do it" and realized that I. as "The American", was designated as the official "fireworks" lighter! HOW this came about and HOW "The American" was, obviously, the BEST PERSON for the job, was beyond me. My new found friend, who introduced himself as, what sounded like, "Karen" (??---I let that go---) said he would help and we all moved out into the "Knot garden" and cemetery out back of the cathedral. The Baroness came up to me and, handing me the bag of fireworks said quietly, "Try to aim them out over the river. The "neighbor" enjoys them and was notified that we would be doing this but I DID want to prevent it getting to be TOO much for him." "Who is 'The Neighbor'?", I asked. "The Archbishop of Canterbury." she said, as she turned away. I stood there with my mouth open, a large bag of fireworks in my hand, in a cemetery in London, with 200 people all waiting for ME to start the celebration and "Please try not to blow up the Archbishop" rolling around in my head!!
        My new found friend and fan of Spirit came over and said, "OK, so how can I help?" I said, "Well---I need some wine bottles and a candle or two from inside." He said, "Right." and headed off to fetch those for me. I backed up so that I could set the bottles on the raised platform of what looked like a monument and when he came back with the required "launch tubes", we fired away! Everyone "oohed" and "ahhed" as we lit up the Thames with rocket after rocket. I had been told that there was an old legend of a ghost that haunted this cemetery if a certain ritual was performed, but I can guarantee that we certainly scared off any ghosts that may have been lurking THAT night. I "may" have aimed a few closer to over the wall of the Archbishops house than was recommended but felt that if he claimed he "enjoyed them" , then it would not be THAT much of a problem if one exploded on HIS grounds. All and all, everyone seemed to have a good time. My friend and I sat down on the steps of the monument we had used as the launch pad as everyone else wandered back inside. He spoke about his love of "that era" of music that Spirit was involved in and how it had influenced his life. I was impressed with his knowledge of, not only, Spirit but other bands from "the 60's."
        As we got up to go back inside, he said, "OH! You DO know whose tomb we have been sitting on? I'd almost forgotten but your talking about living in Tahiti earlier had made me think to mention it....." Stepping back and pointing at it, he said, "May I introduce the famous Captain of the HS Bounty---William Bligh!" So here I was---my head spinning from the whole question and answers of the evening about Hawaii and Tahiti and Spirit and Randy California AND after all of my time in Tahiti AND the connection those islands had to one of the most famous movies made about them "Mutiny on the Bounty" STARRING Marlon Brando----I had been sitting on the tomb of Captain Bligh himself!

       I recalled that time and that story last night while trying to "re-watch" a mini-series on DVD. I had been given "Rome" by a friend---knowing my interest in history and Italy, etc. I had started to watch it years ago and never found the time to sit through a complete "episode." Last night, I didn't make it all the way through either. THAT was because I stopped it when I saw the actor who was playing Julius Caesar-----and recognized my Spirit fan/friend from all those years ago in London. NOT "Karen"-----"Ciaran" Hinds---the wonderful British actor of stage and screen. And that----is just an example of how our own story weaves it's way through our lives and intertwines with others down through history.........

Luana and the temples of the Golden Lizard......

On one of my earlier trip to Tahiti, I was asked by my friend Martin to help out with a "learning" situation, and as such, learned some things myself. Martin was a young British fellow working at my friends hotel---as, basically, the hotel screw-up. He really did not have any hotel training but did have some general knowledge of mechanical things and, in a land where 2 or 3 other languages were spoken, he had one thing really going for him---he spoke "The Queen's" English. THAT put him in a position to work with the Tahitian employees on those assorted mechanical repairs AND act as a teacher and translator at the same time. Like many a British subject, he had learned French in school. That meant that he could speak with the Tahitian workers (also having learned French in school as the primary language---"French" Polynesia being what it was, a French "Protectorate") AND relay information to the owners concerning all things falling apart at the hotel. This did happen. The humidity and heat of the tropics wears out all forms of engines faster, simply, than you want it to. Lawnmowers, clothes washers, generators, out-board motors---everything! And though Martin, as mentioned, had "some" mechanical capabilities, he was in no way a "mechanic." Hence---the "hotel screw-up" part of all of this. Though he could repair, with the advise and help of the Tahitian workers, different engines and motors, they DID seem to break again and again faster AFTER he had laid his hands on them. Anyway, I had met him and become friends because of my being one of the few "popoa" (white men) at the hotel who was NOT pissed off at him most of the time. It was Martin that asked if I could help him out with a situation at home. He was married to a lovely half Hawaiian/half Tahitian girl named Luana. Luana and I had talked and joked when she came to the hotel to deliver lunch to Martin or bring their little girl Gwendolyne to the hotel pool to play. Luana spoke very good English (with that lilting French accent that is so endearing) and could even understand a joke or two. This, I found to be a key ingredient of making conversation in ANY foreign language. All of the "what about this" and "what about that" and greetings and whatever are standard tourist language understanding. But try a little "word play" or teasing or joking---and they look at you with that blank "huh?" look. Knowing I was paying for my room at the hotel at that time, (though at a discounted "friends of the family" rate) Martin asked if I would be willing to stay at his little bungalow in Pao Pao (a little village in Cook's Bay---one of two bay that make up the islands unique letter "E" shape)and help Luana with HER language capabilities, keep her company and help watch Gwendolyne. Luana was a swimmer. LOVED to swim for long lengths of time in the lagoon, but could not do this with little 3 year old Gwendolyne needing to be watched. Also, Martin felt it would help Luana and future employment possibilities for her if she spoke English WITHOUT his distinct Cockney accent. (this was actually a good idea. There were times when I could not understand what he was saying!!) All he could offer was a mat on the floor but we would share meals and I could shower and have a home base. Of course, I agreed. Luana was shy, as Tahitian women can be, but not afraid---simply shy-----and in a very sweet, interested but hesitant kind of way. She was in top shape and I was informed that she had been a competitive swimmer---hence the desire to continue. Gwendolyne was a real treat. Very funny and playful. All she needed were some shells or crabs to chase on the beach while Mom went swimming, and she was thrilled. She took it upon herself to find me endless bits of ocean treasure and bring them to me to inspect. The "house" in Pao Pao was a---unique?---experience. It was basically a cinderblock rectangle with a woven pandanus/thatch roof. One bedroom with a front "family" room (where I slept) and a small kitchen space at one end of that main room. A bathroom and shower and a small side room for Gwendolyne, and that was it. Gas stove and no refrigerator. All food was kept in a wooden, screened, cabinet on the wall. I learned the "Island" way of getting food for each day. A fresh baguette of bread, vegetables from the "chinoise" (as all grocery stores were called, mainly because of their owners-- "The Chinese."), fresh fruit gathered and fish caught or traded for. In those days (1978?) there was no electricity---except from a community (or family compound) generator. These were huge, noisy, smelly things that were usually run for only a few hours in the evening---maybe 5 to 7pm. After that, it was storm lanterns (known as "muri tupapao"---"ghost lights"----lit and burned all night to keep the evil spirits away. This was serious stuff!!) or candles. Also, this little "Fare" or house was back in the jungle of Cook's Bay a bit. Which meant limited breeze----AND plenty of tropical insects. I slept on a mat on the floor and a few times felt something run along my arm or leg. One time, I felt a "scitter" up my arm and reaching for my flashlight, shown it at a baseball sized cane spider just out of my reach---looking at me like "What??" I also had an 8" long centipede run across my leg one night---which had me jumping straight up in the air from a lying position. He slithered into the cluster of my t-shirt---which I wadded up and threw outside and noted to myself to check in the morning to see if he had taken up permanent residence. Island life. The benefits were a roof over my head when it rained. And it DID rain! Tropical pour downs of amazing strength. I also had a place to sit and read and I spent my time talking to Luana---about everything. I had endless questions about island life and she wanted to know about America and music. I would play her songs on my guitar and, looking up, find her sitting there in the lantern light with her eyes closed rocking back and forth. She also loved to have me comb her long black hair. To ALL Polynesian women, HAIR is their power---a sign of beauty and femininity. Luana had long jet black, thick hair, down to her waist. She would come out of the lagoon after swimming with this long curtain of hair flowing out behind her. At night, after Gwendolyne was asleep and, on those ,nights when Martin worked late, she would shower and then come out wrapped in a pareo and sit with her back to me on a chair, and have me comb her hair dry. About half way dry, I would put some coconut oil on my hands and run them through---then comb that slowly down to the ends. She would talk dreamily to me---about her ancestors---and the island spirits----and the marae (or temples) up in the valley, that her Grandfather tended. In the lantern light, with her talking softer and softer---in her slight French accent---and after a while, with her eyes closed----it was magical. It struck me one night that it could have been any time, any century. Most Tahitians did not go by calender or watch. Back then, they got up with the sunrise, ate when they were hungry, got home before dark and slept when they had eaten and the electricity was no longer available. I was lost in time. I could have been one of the infamous crew of the Bounty----mesmerized and beguiled by these women so different and free from what they, as Europeans of that time, were used to. She would finally stop---we would sit there in silence--and she would say, "maururu, Toma, nana" (thank you, good night) and shuffle off to bed while I sat there in the most wonderful glow. After a week or two of staying there and talking with Luana and helping out, I stepped outside one day and there was a dark brown, tall wirey looking Tahitian man with a straw hat on his head. Luana said, "Toma---this is my grandfather. He wonders if you will help him with the temples today? He is the caretaker and I told him you were true." I told her I would be glad to--and off he started walking---heading straight into the jungle thicket behind the houses there. I didn't realize that it was an immediate thing, so quickly put on my running shoes and grabbed my small backpack and ran after him. He didn't say much but smiled at me and pointed out a few fruit trees and showed me where we took a trail to the left or right and made sure I saw the very slight path he was following. We hiked up through the jungle for quite some time, and coming around a large (what looked like) banyan tree, there stood a large raised "marae." These are raised platforms of rounded lava rocks. Usually 4 or 5 rows of these "cannonball" looking stones were stacked perfectly ----sometimes with a raised slight "wall." Stepping through the open entry space onto the raised "bed" of the platform, introduced you to a long open air "hall" or ceremonial stone field. There were long "plynth" type flat stones set end down into the "floor" in different areas in what appeared to be "sitting" arrangements--all facing the front of the platform. There, at the front, was a long table like large stone---usually placed on top of end braces or sometimes on a further raised stack of stones. This was, quite obviously, an altar. Though there were no walls or roof, it was easily imagined that bamboo poles could be stuck down into the rocks and walls erected and a roof placed over that. BUT--the overall effect of the existing marae was of just what it had been---and open air temple. This first one he showed me was huge. I would guess 60ft by 100ft. There was a much smaller one off to the side a short way in the jungle that was much smaller---20 by 30. I had seen these before. In fact, there was one near the road leading up to the lookout between the two bays there on Moorea ---"Belvedere"-----with a magnificent view--but THAT marae was very much cleaned and prepped for the tourists to see with marked paths,etc. It looked very generic. But these Luana's Grandfather was showing me were far more impressive and, for lack of a better word, powerful. You could feel it. And these were not just "meeting" or gathering places---this was heavy stuff. Private ritual "marae." One had a petroglyph barely visible on the back of one of the stones--- a large "Mo'o" lizard. It was then that I remembered something Luana had mentioned in one of our talks----the island of Moorea----was, the island of the "mo'o" (gecko) "rea" (yellow/golden light) Quite literally------the Island of the Golden Lizard..... We cleaned weeds and vines from around the tables and tablets. Brushed off leaves and I helped clean off some large fallen tree limbs. He had gathered some coconuts along the way and a mango or two. He peeled the husk off of the green coconuts and cracked the shells perfectly in two on the rocks. We poured some of the coconut water on the 4 corners of the temples. Arranged a small packet of fruit wrapped in leaves gathered from the nearby trees and placed this in a small flat slot under the altar top in the back and we made our way back down to Pao Pao. I helped him a few times more---and then was told that I should walk with him on the full moon night up to the big temple. With, at first, a flashlight, and then a torch that he pulled from behind a tree half way up, we made our way up to the top. When we got there, he stumped out the torch and motioned for me to sit with our backs against one of the sitting stone plynths. We did this--and waited. It was then that I realized that we were facing Mouaputa---"Shark's Tooth Mountain"---- which has a saddle shaped top from that angle and is known for it's unique feature---there is a natural tunnel or hole through the top, just below the summit. I sat there and watched the full moon come climbing up behind the mountain and realized why we were there on that night at that time------the moon shown through the hole on it's climb up and then become "cradled" in the saddle at the peak! The moonlight beamed down directly on this one temple and where we were sitting...... We sat and waited for the moon to rise above the top of the peak and light our way back.....and then, without a word, he led me back to Pao Pao. I was no longer a "tourist."