Gold and How It Gets That Way

"Gold," said Henry Miller, "is a night word belonging to the chthonian mind." As you know (or don't know) chthonian means pertaining to the underworld and its gods or spirits. For the wannabe hipster of the Golden State in the early 21st century, looking through the Golden Gate, recalling the Gold Rush, or driving past the Golden Bear Brewery, there might be nothing as unhip as gold: it deserves its place in Hades, subterranean realm of plutocrats and other dead people.

But for the Künstlertypus, the artist type, who flourishes like the California poppy in the sunlight of the bay and the rock and redwood coast, gold is not a night word. It is an everyday word, a word for sunset-bathed houses, the fall grass on the hills, a gleam on the water, the sidewalks after the fog has burned off, the filtered light between tall palos colorados. It is the light and the colors it creates, the glint of gold leaf on paper, the dull thud of imaginary pirate coins, riches unknown (we coastals pretend to believe) east of the Caldecott tunnel.

The KT gallery would like to thank T324, themselves a survivor of the last century's silicon gold rush, for the use of their golden yellow and cobalt blue walls to hang our collection of seven prints and paintings celebrating the unhip but still precious gold of Northern California.

— Jonathan David Leavitt, Curator