Welcome to Something From Nothing.

For better or worse I make something from nothing. A blank page becomes a script, a ball of string becomes a sweater, a fleeting thought becomes an obsessive spiral. I have the ability to overthink, the power to overthink how much I'm overthinking, and the wisdom to know overthinking makes no difference in outcome. This newsletter will be essays, thoughts, and humor pieces, with an occasional poem, only finally being produced now because I have thought and overthought about doing this for years. The format may change as I settle in, and I am not sure what my frequency will be, but if you want to read my writing this is the place to be. 

My dad worked for BMW at various dealerships in the finance department for most of my life. Before that, he was a touring and studio drummer, playing and touring with John Stewart (musician) and playing on shows like Mork and Mindy and other things shot at Paramount and Sony. When he and my mom decided to start a family, he pivoted to managing bands for stability, then hard pivoted to cars. In the car-centric city of LA, the car industry wasn't and still isn't going anywhere any time soon. I have thoughts on this, but they're for another newsletter. So Dad started his car career in sales then moved to finance, and began working for BMW soon after. My dad loved BMWs. I never asked why, but I think he liked the classic look, and how quickly they could go 0-60 when merging onto a short 101 freeway onramp. Dad was a good driver with a touch of Angeleno chaos. He rarely signaled then would get mad when people wouldn't let him into their lane. He wanted to drive faster than traffic often allowed. He called everyone a "shithead." As a teenager, I would sit in the front seat grumbling under my breath after every "shithead"-- "they would let you in if you would tell them you wanted to be let in" while he ignored me and drummed on the steering wheel. Rides in the car were frequently accompanied by pop quizzes on classic rock, with him turning on the radio and saying "who is this?" while I asked to switch to 102.7 KIIS FM. Most of the time we settled on James Taylor or The Beatles, who we could both appreciate.  

Dad had some Keeping Up With The Joneses habits which were challenged by more Just Fine financial years than Good years. He was able to drive out-of-budget cars because of employee discounts, so his car was almost exclusively a new BMW on a three year lease. "The second you drive a car off the lot it depreciates" he would warn. "A three year lease is smart until you're sure you want to buy something." For a brief period when I was in middle school he worked at a Porsche dealership, so he got an employee-deal Porsche. A tiny little silver sports car with checkered fiberglass interior paneling that I would trace on our way to school. Even at 12 I had to suppress my eye rolls for the obviousness of this mid-life crisis lease, but as a lower middle class kid in an upper class school district, I did love stepping out of that Porsche at drop off in my knockoff Ugg boots and hand-me-down clothes. 

Cars were a big deal for our house. My mom and dad each had a car, as did my grandma (who lived with us), my oldest sister, and when my middle sister and I could drive we got cars too. At one point there were five cars parked in our driveway. LA, baby! But Dad was the only one with a BMW. The rest of us drove sensible Hondas, used ones for us daughters. After working at Porsche, Dad went back to BMW, then did a final stint at Porsche, but his favorite was always BMW. We'd sit in traffic behind a BMW with the logo colors modified to be pink or red and he'd roll his eyes, telling me "the logo is blue and white because it represents aircraft propellers in the sky. Having it another color makes no sense." And I would agree that this was very important to be annoyed about, as daughters do. 

Later in life when our vintage Hondas would eventually die (RIP), my sister and I got employee-lease Mini Coopers thanks to BMW buying Mini. Then Mom got a Mini too, because why not? So by that point our driveway was a BMW X3, and three Mini Coopers. Four employee leases, four people in deceptively inexpensive cars. Joneses who!!! 

And the cars weren't just in the driveway. In 1975, BMW started working with artists to make a collection of cars painted by famous artists. "The BMW Art Car Project was introduced by the French racecar driver and auctioneer Hervé Poulain, who wanted to invite an artist to create a canvas on an automobile. In 1975, Poulain commissioned American artist and friend Alexander Calder to paint the first BMW Art Car. This first example would be a BMW 3.0 CSL which Poulain himself would race in the 1975 Le Mans endurance race. Since Calder’s work of art in 1975, many other renowned artists throughout the world have created BMW Art Cars on the basis of contemporary BMW automobiles." - BMW Art Car Collection Website. The 20 total art cars are actual BMW cars painted by artists, and they each have a corresponding die cast 1:18-scale model. The models are a bit rare, and very pricey. An employee discount came in handy once more. Of the 17 cars produced in his lifetime, my dad bought 12. 

The 12 art cars in our house were model reproductions by artists: Alexander Calder (1975), Frank Stella (1976), Roy Lichtenstein (1977), Andy Warhol (1979), Ernst Fuchs (1982), Robert Rauschenberg (1986), Michael Jagamara Nelson (1989), Ken Done (1989), César Manrique (1990), A.R. Penck (1991), David Hockney (1995), and Jenny Holzer (1999).    

The art cars were a feature of our dining room for much of my life, with each addition joining the lit bookcase display then frequently admired. I had no idea what these cars cost or meant, I just liked looking at the pretty race cars behind the dining room table. My dad had always loved cars– real, models, toys. He often would come home with a new toy or model and let us know if it was a play car or a shelf car: this one can be zoomed off of the coffee table onto the Lincoln Log cabin, this one can be played with gently, this one is just to look at. The art cars are intricate and beautiful. Sometimes he would take them out of the bookcase, lift up their acrylic protective shell, and admire the miniature parts: the opening doors and fully accurate interior, the windshield wipers, the tail lights. Even the trunks were lined properly. My personal favorite were the windshield wipers. So tiny. So correct. Then the acrylic case would be lowered and the cars would go back into their little lit homes. 

After my dad died and my mom downsized, the cars, along with a lot of our childhood things and non-essentials, were moved into a storage unit. And when she decided it was stupid to be paying hundreds of dollars per month for the storage unit, we downsized once more. My sisters and I each re-adopted our childhood things: the tiny dance recital costumes and old school projects, American Girl Dolls and Beanie Babies. After weeks of organizing and paring down, all that was left were some pieces of furniture, a few drum sets, and the 12 BMW art cars. Furniture was sold or given away, my musician and music producer sister (also here in LA) took the drums– not wanting them to leave the family just yet, and I became the keeper of the cars.  

For a while, my LA sister took a few art cars since at the time I lived in a studio apartment and had one closet. When I moved into my current larger place and we formulated some sense of a plan for these fancy not-toys, I adopted them all. My sisters and I each decided to keep one car as a memento, so ten art cars, the nine for sale plus the one I kept, lived at my apartment for years until one by one I was able to sell them. And these are not small guys. These cars are 1:18 of a real BMW in acrylic cases on engraved platforms. Each car in its box was 14" by 8" by 6". Ten of those in my 600 square foot apartment were a lot. Now six years later, I am an eBay seller with a 100% rating, a lot of thoughts about the site's ease of use and design, and an empty stock. I sold the last three cars this past weekend, just days ahead of the tenth anniversary of my dad's passing. 

The irony was not lost on me as I packed up the last of my dad's three BMW art cars then wrote "FRAGILE" all over the boxes in the week leading up to his tenth yahrzeit. 

Even ten years into my parental grief, I get sensitive around the important dates; all of which are in March and April. His birthday, the last time I saw him, the last time we talked, the last time we texted, his death day, my parents' wedding anniversary. For me, spring is as much about death as it is about rebirth, and I frequently acknowledge the juxtaposition of being overjoyed that the sun is shining and roses are blooming to mentally listing all the life events my dad has missed in the last ten years and will miss in the future. 

Selling the last of the art cars hit me harder than I anticipated. I listed the collection for sale with the caveat that I wanted each car to go to someone who really wanted it for a collection and was not buying just to resell, and I had conversations about what the cars meant to each person who bought one. One person ended up buying two cars, so these conversations happened with eight people. Eight people bought these model cars to display in their homes and offices or to gift to their friends or family. Eight people who were happier thanks to the dismantling of my dad's collection. I'm happy to see the collection be dispersed among BMW and art fans like my dad, but with every sale I thought about how that was one more little piece of him no longer around me. I say this while looking at my coffee table made from a slab of redwood my dad bought on a roadtrip. Next to me is one of his old drum storage boxes. Behind me, the John Stewart album with my dad's name on the back in the credits. To my left, a photo of him playing drums when he was my age. Feet away on my bookshelf, the art car I kept, Ken Done. And aside from the physical objects, I have thought of my dad every day for the past ten years. He's around because I keep him around, and clinging to a collection he once owned won't make him any more present. 

And so the art cars are gone, six currently in new homes, and the final three on their way to their new owners. Maybe every once in a while they'll take off the acrylic protective lid and let their daughter check out the tiny windshield wipers before she one day adopts the car herself.

This week, cars were on the brain! Something I noticed is that last year all the car brands came out with new models in a grey with green undertones. This year, the new grey has blue undertones. I find it odd that so many different brands are following the same pattern. Why not different colors? Let's have some fun, folks!!

Next up is the Novice Slipover by Petite Knit! I'm excited to make a little vest. I also have a ridiculous number of yarn skeins to use up but none that work for this project. Classic. My next project after the vest will be something that uses up some stock yarn. I promise. Or we'll see. Who knows?

Thanks for reading! See ya next time.