Capitola Art and Wine Festival

Every year, just as the long summer nears it’s end, the City of Capitola blocks off it’s roads and invites local artists and wineries to show off their goods to the public at the long running Capitola Art and Wine Festival. Now in it’s 41st year, this large annual gathering is known for dependably drawing huge crowds looking to enjoy a weekend full of high-end art, tasty vino, scrumptious food, and rockin’ tunes. I must admit, when this weekend rolls around every year, I usually do my best to steer clear of the festivities. 

While I love art and my dear artist friends who show their work off at the event, I’m not big on the crowds the Capitola Art and Wine Festival draws. I’m truly a friendly and personable fella, but I tend to get a bit shy and introverted when surrounded by so much energy and stimuli. Plus, I’m broke and rarely drink, especially in the middle of the day. So when I have gone down to stroll amongst the masses in year past, I’ve felt a bit of an Imposter Syndrome creeping in.

This year, however, I put all that behind me, as I had a higher purpose. My girlfriend, Ana Bachmanova was one of the artists who shelled out the dough to rent space to show off and sell their art. Her outfit, Follow the Sun Art, consists of ocean-inspired prints, gift cards, apparel, as well as original acrylic and watercolor paintings. I knew it was going to be a long day for her, so I offered to come by and keep her company for a couple hours.

As I rolled up to the scene last Saturday on my trusty E-Bike, I could tell that things were already lively down there at Capitola-By-The-Sea. Throngs of humans packed the street, enjoying their wine as they milled in and out of the many tents set up by vendors to display their wares. I locked up my bike to a street sign, stepped into the maelstrom, and was soon enveloped by the writhing sea of humans. I’d become one with the crowd, but without a drop of wine to sip or a a dollar to my name, I couldn’t help but feel out of place. “Remember,” I told myself. “You have a higher purpose!”

There she was. When I arrived to Ana’s tent, she was busy chatting up a trio of middle-aged women, so I rethought my approach. Not wanting to disrupt any possible sales, I shot her a wink and tip-toed my way around her domain. This gave me an excuse to wonder around for a bit, so I did just that, albeit slowly.

I lurked a few booths down, checking out some beautiful sea glass jewelry and some stunningly realistic painting s of mythical mermaids and mermen. The next booth I stopped at was that of the Made Fresh Krew’s Taylor Reinhold. His colorful originals and extensive line of apparel, livened up by his fun and eye-catching graphics, had attracted a large crowd of admirers and prospective, so I fell back to browse though his offerings while he did his magic. 

When I saw an opening, I waltzed up to the man and offered him my fist. After he bumped it, we exchanged pleasantries. “So,” he said, looking down at his stack of self-designed T-shirts. “What size do you wear?” 

Moments later, I walked away with my generous new gift tucked under my armpit. With my merchandise stowed, I began walking back towards the sounds of live music being played over on the Esplanade, this time feeling like less of an imposter. “Now I look like a paying customer,” I thought to myself with a great sense of relief. Emboldened, I nodded at a passing woman who was holding a framed original, and smiled knowingly, as if she understood that I too was just another art collector like her, on my way towards my next big purchase.

I continued walking towards the sound of the music playing on the Esplanade, where a large crowd was beginning to form. The performers, a trio by the name of Dirty Cello, were really starting to cook, so I took a seat on the grass. Before long, my head was bobbing while my toes began to tap rhythmically to the beat. The San Francisco-based crossover band did things with a cello I’d never imagined could be done, putting a unique twist on memorable bluegrass, blues, and rock songs of years passed.

After killing ten minutes or so with Dirty Cello, I turned on my heels and slowly made my way back to Ana’s tent. She was sitting on her fold-out chair, reading a novel in between prospective customers. I crept up behind her and began to lower my hands onto her shoulders, but alas, she knew me too well. Before my fingers could gain purchase, she addressed me without looking away from the page. “You found me,” she said casually. “Damn it!” I moaned, genuinely disappointed. “I’m loosing my touch!” She giggled playfully and sat up to give me a long hug.

She then told me how her morning had gone so far (very well!), and I told her about my “fish-out-of-water” feelings (shame!).

“Stop being silly,” she told me.

“You don’t have to drink win, be an artist, or buy anything to enjoy yourself here!” 

“Besides,” she continued. “You are an artist! Only you paint scenes with you words, and I think that you’re pretty damn good at it!”

“You’re no just saying that because we’re dating, are you?” I asked before sticking out my bottom lip in an exaggerated pout.

She shoved me playfully and I sat down next to her, relaxing while she began detailing her morning’s strongest sales. We sat and chatted as we people-watched for the next hour or so, and all the while, I couldn’t help but be amazed at the sheer number of humans (and their cute dogs), mixing it up that day at the long-running Santa Cruz tradition. What a great opportunity for artists, like Ana, to showcase their heard work and make a few bucks, all while seated outdoors on a fine late-summer day, just paces away from the water’s edge.