Five years earlier in 1934, Amelia Earhart had her airplane strapped to the decks of the Lurline and sailed for Hawaii, only to fly back solo to Oakland. Now it was Georgia's turn to spread her creative wings into Pacific winds.

Her trip over was enjoyable, but her arrival in Honolulu did not go well. The gentrified male-dominated culture of pineapple plantations did not meld well with Georgia's idea of how an artist's nose works. The pineapple bosses felt it unseemly for a woman to roam free on their plantations, and instead decided it would be wise to deliver a pineapple plant to Georgia's hotel. They took the liberty of peeling and slicing the fruit ready for Georgia's still life magic.

Georgia of course was disgusted. She abruptly changed course and decided to extend her stay in the islands and left the confines of her Honolulu hotel for the outer islands. On Maui, she found her greatest freedom, and consequently her greatest inspiration.

There she found unfiltered views of nature in remote and wild valleys and coastlines. She especially enjoyed the road to Hana along Maui's eastern shore, and stayed in the remote village of Hana. There she found her old self, and busied herself with exploration and painting.

In 1939, Americans knew far less of Hawaii than they do today.

For Georgia, it was a feast of discovery. She wrote letters to her husband Alfred Stieglitz describing at length the dark and dense rainforests, the marvelously colored and exotic flora, and the magical black sand beaches. She painted word pictures for him of jagged black lava along the shore contrasted by the white splashes of surf.

She ventured up into the steep Ioa Valley with its looming vertical green walls and dazzling white waterfalls plummeting downward. She made it to the top of Mt. Haleakala, peering down into its deep crater and its endless vistas to the Big Island south across the Pacific adorned with fleets of floating clouds.

Georgia was a guest of the Kaeleku Sugar Plantation. The plantation manager assigned his 12 year old daughter, Patricia Jennings, to serve as Georgia's private guide. The notoriously independent artist surprisingly struck up an unlikely friendship with young Patricia, and for ten days, the pair explored to their hearts content.

Hana was far different in 1939. When Georgia arrived, the town had a population of 3,500 residents, an international community of Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, Portuguese, Pacific Islanders and Hawaiians. It had theaters, general stores, barber shops, restaurants, and it even had a pool hall.

Back in her New York studio, Georgia completed 20 Hawaii paintings, mostly of Hawaiian flowers, and not one of them a pineapple. Horrified, pineapple executives had pineapple plants shipped to New York by air, and Georgia finally painted their pineapple.

The plaque in the ad to the left showing Georgia's Pineapple Bud painting reads. "A Pineapple Bud from the Dole Plantation in Hawaii painted by Georgia O'Keeffe."

The Ad copy reads, "Perhaps you have never seen a pineapple bud -- and words cannot describe this glowing crater of color which on the Dole plantations grows and ripens into a luscious big pineapple ... Perhaps you have never tasted Dole Pineapple Juice; and there is no other way to discover the fragrant zestful goodness of this pure juice.  Just try it for breakfast ... after shopping or exercise ... with the children when they come from school ... whenever you or your family crave refreshment."

The contrast of Ruby's colorfully charged rock and roll art compared with the ashen remains of his Front Street Gallery couldn't be more striking.

Like most artists, painting was Ruby's life. It wasn't just what he did. It was his home, his circle of friends, it was the first thing in he thought about in the morning and what he dreamed about at night. His licks with a his paint brush were as daring and blaring as any rock solo. His paintings were filled with the vibrancy and joy of reverberating rock.

The scene of burned out Front Street after the fire was a far cry of what had been had been just a short time earlier. Just before word of the fire arrived, Ruby's sons were in the gallery hanging paintings and adjusting lighting for the grand opening the next day.

A few clients had already come in to look around and one even made an offer, but was told to come back the next day.

But then the fire storm arrived. There was only time to flee. His sons made a back roads escape and eventually arriving at Ruby's hillside house "up-country" which was under threat from yet another fire. His sons told their dad they had to go NOW! They fled the house and looked for a room to rent. Nothing! They ended up spending the night in two rented U-haul trucks and blow-up beds in a parking lot at the airport.

The next day and days following, the details of the horror mounted and the totality of the horror came harshly into focus.

Ruby's story, although tragic, pales when compared to the stories of his Lahaina neighbors. They had stories of loved ones lost, inter generational homes destroyed, and their inter-generational community of Lahaina was wiped out. In the context of the entire tragedy, Ruby was fortunate. His sons escaped harm, and when he returned turned to his house it was still standing.

After having some time for reflection and grief, Ruby emotionally expressed he may never find the desire to paint ever again.

The total human and financial impacts on Lahaina, Maui and all of Hawaii is staggering. Rebuilding will take years. The lost loved ones, the homes, the memories, the history ... it is impossible to comprehend this disaster in all of its dimensions. Although the fire was over in a few hours, the grief will be with Ruby and all Lahaina residents for generations to come.

Ruby's story is recognizable by artists everywhere. His gallery wasn't just inventory, it was his life. Each painting had a history. They weren't just inventory, they were like his children. Each painting was not just a visual story, but was an idea built on relationships and memories, often with discussions and experiences with the rock artists themselves.

Just six years ago in 2017, a similar fire occurred in Sonoma County. And just like on Maui, people died and whole communities were burned to the ground. There were a few artists of the Sonoma County art community who lost everything, their studios, their paintings, their passions. That fire appears to have been of similar origin to the fires on Maui, created by a confluence of climate-change related drought and high winds. Both fires were ignited by downed power lines creating a fast moving blaze blow-torching everything in its path.

Much needs to be done. Hard lessons need to be learned of how to avoid fires in the future. Precautions need to be taken.

But for now, as a first step, the story needs to be told. The losses on Maui need to be comprehended, the tears need to be shed. The grief needs to be experienced and shared.

Art Trails Catalog '23 - click photo for a pdf copy of the catalog

Bentonville, AR
Crystal Bridges
Museum of American Art

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