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About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (July 16, 1999)
jidy 1 fi. lâââ ' jMSft Mt 19 Jeff Bales, among friends and on his path F eeling V oyeuristic ? Join Just Out on a lour of six queenly fabulous Portland-area homes by Orina Gran Continued from Page 1 hether we live in studio apartments or mansions, in yurts or condos, in bungalows or basements, there is something special about our homes. Many of us tend to turn away from the city and retreat behind fences and hedges into a world of our own place where we have at least the illusion of control over our environment. Gay men of a certain inclination have always had a reputation for gra cious living, but lots of us knew how to live well long before Martha Stew art instructed the masses in the fine art of picking paint colors to match designer chicken eggs. Even style-impaired lesbians can create havens worth celebrating, though they may include a line strung up between two pines for the flannel shirts to dry on. So join me for a tour of six homes—each one wildly unique and per sonal—but each one clearly, queerly fabulous. Eat your Araucana heart out, Martha! W finally overland again to Portland. That’s how much Bales loves exotic rocks. It’s a passion he inherited from both sets of rock-hounding grandparents, who took him as a boy to the rich lands of central Oregon in search of won der. Entering his home I am at once immersed in all things Asian. The elephant-headed god Ganesh beckons to a small altar; fabulous silver-threaded sari silks adorn the windows; every piece of furniture is covered in hand- woven textiles from Vietnam and other color ful places Bales has wandered through. Native music sets the mood, and tea is brewing on the stove this damp morning. The house began its life as a modest bunga low, but has since been totally transformed into an Asian temple. In fact, the transforma tion is so complete it seems as though Bales spends all of his time in Asia. All the walls and ceilings are painted in jewel-toned hues that modulate from room to room—gold, purple, turquoise. Every inch of space is filled with artifacts and collections and precious memen tos of his journeys. And now he has twice the room for it all. Last year Bales was finally able to buy the crack house next door and is busy renovating it into an office for his landscape design business. He quickly knocked down the fence and dou bled his backyard space. In his garden there are two beds. If you had the good fortune to fall asleep on one, you would be forgiven for believing you had awak ened in heaven. Bales has made a lifelong study of Persian paradise gardens—the lush- walled gardens of eternal spring. Lying down is his favorite way to enjoy his space. Hidden and Seeking “It is an invitation to close examination and discovery,” he explains, reclining and hough set hack only a few yards from the reaching out to pluck a perfect raspberry, which street, Jeff Bales’ city home is invisible, sur he offers to his guest. On an arbor above the rounded by lush plantings. As 1 climb the steps to his porch, splendid fragments of Indian platform, grapevines twist and wind and temples come into view. A bright red altar hangs beside the front door where each day Bales lights incense, offers a 2 I prayer to bless his home and k m rings a small temple bell. I “It works," he assures me, leading the way into his amaz ing world. A small sign above his front door reminds all who enter to “Stay on Path”—an admonition full of many meanings. And for good mea sure, he has draped his porch with Tibetan prayer flags, which are said to release prayers with each breeze that flutters through them. Bales needed daily pray Jeff Bales believes Ivina down is the best way to view ers—for himself and his a garden—especially his house—to survive the past 15 promise to reach down later in the year with years in a rough inner-city Portland neighbor their succulent offerings. hood. For most of that time, he was sand wiched between a gang living on one side and The breeze stirs a concert of chimes, and design — a drug dealers on the other, but his house was looking up I am astonished to see that from cheap, and he believed the neighborhood every rafter tail hangs a different Nepalese tem ple bell. Adding to the sense of tranquillity is would eventually revive into a livable place. After only four years, Bales was able to pay the gentle sound of a stone frog spewing water off his mortgage, which enabled him to pursue into the pond, which is surrounded by an intri his real love—travel. For the past nine years he cate medicine wheel that Bales created. Based has spent his winters traversing the back roads on the astrological teachings of Sun Bear, the wheel features subterranean stones from Cave of Asia, particularly India, which he affection ately calls “a crowded, filthy, spectacular mess.” Creek that are color correct for their positions While soaking up the culture and traditions on the wheel. of each place he visited, Bales accumulated a Evidence of the spiritual inspiration for his treasure-trove of discarded artifacts, native garden is everywhere. Even the lines of his crafts and slabs of stone that he shipped back palms are preserved in glass tile stepping stones as a kind of permanent oracle—and perhaps home. One cache of exquisite stones traveled 1,200 miles overland to Bombay, India, halfway around the world by ship to Los Angeles, and Continued on Page 20 T