If you’re looking for Jonathan Lum, check the soccer pitch.
As vice president of the Sacramento Soccer Alliance, Lum says he has “no specific duties” for the nonprofit that provides community-based competitive soccer to area youth.
No specific duties mean he really does everything.
Daniel Owens has a theory. He says, “In every art form, there are envelope pushers and archivists. Both play very important roles. But it’s been very helpful for me to figure out which one I am.”
Throughout his career as a musician and teacher, Owens pushed. He was halfway through a degree in classical trombone performance at San Jose State when he realized he didn’t fit the classical world. He transitioned to jazz and salsa, composing and performing his own work.
His decision to study trombone was unconventional. Raised in a musical family and playing piano, in middle school he craved the community of a band. He switched from piano to trombone and “caught the bug,” joining every band possible.
If you can’t picture yourself laughing about death, read “Almost Family,” a debut novel by Ann Bancroft.
The Land Park writer will have you chuckling along with the characters as they face death from various forms of cancer. But it’s not a cancer book.
“The topic isn’t cancer, it’s about relationships,” says Bancroft, 71, who twice battled cancer. “We all live until we die and, surprise, we’re all going to die. I wanted to make it easier to discuss death, to make people more comfortable with illness and dying, so I tried to use humor. Cancer’s not one thing. You’re still worried about what’s for dinner. You’re still a whole person.”
My earliest memory of Maureen Gilli is from fourth grade at Sacramento County Day School.
She wheeled her art cart into the classroom and showed us an example of that day’s project: bird masks made from paper.
I marveled at her work. The detail of feathers. The expressive owl face. All from simple pieces of cut paper. I stared in awe. I thought, maybe someday my work will be that beautiful.
Thirty years later, the awe has not diminished. Today I’m in Gilli’s Citrus Heights home. Her work graces the walls, staircase, ceiling and tabletops in every medium you can imagine.
Water ripples around gray rocks. Pine trees and blue sky reflect in the water. The river bottom is visible beneath.
This landscape can steal your breath, but when you realize the Sierra scene is not a photo or paint, but fabric, you may gasp for air.
“I love doing landscapes,” says Merle Axelrad, the artist and wizard behind this textile trickery. “I think of them not as what they are—a rock, a tree—but as layering items in space to create depth and the play of light.”
