drawing

What does it mean to lack ambition in a country that worships wealth? It means you are a capitalist wallflower, a laggard with a serious character flaw. No field of endeavor is immune from this attitude, the art world least of all. But artists with a desire for riches and fame must not declare their intentions so brazenly. At a time when the plastic arts are about as marginalized as they ever have been, and media buzz is generated by dead painters whose works sell for enormous sums at auction, creation in and of itself has little value unless it is lashed to something marketable.

With his new novel “Contrapposto,” Dave Eggers has written a big-hearted, deeply moving story about the choices artists make, or don’t make, to square up their own notions of success and happiness. The book is dual bildungsroman, following two friends across the long span of their lives from adolescence to their 70s, as they fall in and out of each other’s lives, make their way in the world, and fumble around for meaning and purpose in their art.

The protagonist in “Contrapposto” is Rob “Cricket” Dibb, an underclass Midwestern kid, raised by a single mother in a North Indiana suburb that’s about as nowheresville as it gets for budding artists with dreams of glory. Cricket doesn’t dream big. He’s just trying to endure without bodily harm, seeking refuge from his mother’s abusive boyfriend in the basement with his grandfather Silas, who teaches him about jazz and the beauty of a glorious sunset. He draws so he doesn’t have to think. Immersion in art is his escape hatch from the dreariness of his pinched world: “The drawing meant nothing, would never mean anything to anyone, but it was true to how he saw it. His hand had recorded what he saw and felt about this thing. He was an ugly, common creature who could occasionally freeze time. That was enough.”

Cricket’s apprenticeship is decidedly informal. No full scholarship rides to Bard or Pratt for him; instead he saves up to enroll himself in a life drawing class in Chicago, where he discovers the beauty of applying rigor and rules to his work, how to break down pictures into the geometry of circles and squares, planes and angles. “He measured proportions and improved,” writes Eggers. “He grew more confident with each pass on his drawing, and realized … that much of the rightness of the drawing, of any drawing, came through time and diligence and discernment.”

He meets his slightly older schoolmate Olympia, one of Eggers’ most beguiling creations, when she implores him to scrawl scatological bathroom graffiti on a playground structure in Old-English typography. Unlike Cricket, Olympia is earnest and sincere about her art in the way that only a young person untainted by cynicism can be. She claims to inhabit the soul of Albert Camus, and flings around aphorisms about art that fly over Cricket’s head. She is an aesthete, someone who likes to go to the race track just to revel in the colors on display there. She wants to create an art scene in their little world. “You know all the great art movements have friends at their core, right?,” she tells Cricket. “A lot of time they’re jammed together by some critics and the artists reject the name and the association. But think about Patti Smith and Sam Shepard. Did you know they dated for a while?”

Cricket is beguiled by her, and Olympia in turn is taken in by Cricket’s talent. When the local library pulls a few of Cricket’s semi-nude life drawing portraits down for fear of offending their patrons, Olympia becomes his advocate and champion. In contrast to Cricket, who skates along with no end plan, Olympia is a committed careerist, an artist who insists on a captive audience to justify her work. She wants to earn money as an artist; Cricket just wants to be left alone. This push and pull between the two frame Eggers’ novel across the six decades of his narrative.

One of many joys of “Contrapposto” is observing Cricket’s artistic awakening via the mentors who guide him into his artistic consciousness. Marcus Carpenter, a wizened sage in battered work boots (one imagines him as the art world analogue to the late novelist Jim Harrison), is the moral conscience of the novel, fighting the good fight for personal expression and railing against the “new, paradoxical tyranny wherein those without technical skill terrorize those who possess it.” Carpenter plucks Cricket from arts college and its meaningless pontificating to his “atelier in the corn,” a ramshackle Victorian where Cricket learns how to transmute what he sees with color and light. “The talented have talent,” Carpenter tells Cricket during one of his endearing rants. “The untalented have theories.”

From there, Cicket’s life is a crooked line. He doesn’t abandon art, but he can’t summon the urge to sell himself or his work, to graft his joy in making things onto the caprices of the marketplace. As Eggers jumps through time, we find Cricket working as an intern in an art gallery, an arid, lifeless space where nothing inspiring can possibly exist. As a young man he works as a ship-breaker in Turkey; in middle-age, we find him in a coastal town in Cambodia, making replicas of great paintings for tourists. Olympia, his elusive love and sporadic muse, flits in and out of his life as she works her way up the tiers of the art world’s ziggurat. She gently berates him for his timidity: “This is how artists have power. We sell work. You’re implying there’s nobility in powerlessness. That’s been an idiotic trope for too long — that participating in the business side of it taints you. Do you know how dumb that is? That artists have to be these fragile little wood nymphs that are too precious to touch the money?”

As “Contrapposto” arrives at its beautiful, life-affirming conclusion, we are left pondering the significance of artistic endeavor in a world that commodifies everything, including our bodies and brains. At a time when even the greatest achievements are debased in a culture that gives equal weight to meretricious novelty, is it even worth the trouble? Eggers’ brilliant novel has the answer: Follow your bliss. In the final analysis, it is all that matters.

Weingarten is the author of “Thirsty: William Mulholland, California Water, and the Real Chinatown.”

People heading to Yosemite to escape urban congestion fumed this weekend as they waited in a seemingly endless line of cars at the park entrance.

Inside, they circled aimlessly around full parking lots, scanning for empty spots instead of majestic views.

Near the summit of Half Dome, on the infamous steel cables hikers use to ascend the final stretch of bare granite, another traffic jam formed, trapping people hundreds of feet in the air, according to social media posts.

Even before the summer rush, California’s most visited national park is seeing big crowds — the most people in a decade, according to National Park System data.

Critics of the free-for-all are blaming the influx on the Trump administration for abandoning a reservation requirement that, for the last few years, has helped control the number of visitors and preserve a sense of natural tranquility.

California’s nine national parks drew a record 12 million visitors in 2025, up more than 800,000 from the previous record set in 2019. Yosemite accounted for more than a quarter of those visits.

This year, the pace continues, with more than half a million visits to Yosemite so far. In March, the park recorded 236,000 visits, up more than 45% from the same month a year earlier.

Yosemite National Park is enormous, covering more than 1,100 square miles on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Even at the height of summer, an adventurous soul willing to hike a bit can spend weeks in the park and rarely see another person.

But Yosemite’s most famous and Instagrammable vistas — the towering, 3,000-foot granite wall of El Capitan, the thundering spectacles of Yosemite and Bridalveil falls — can be enjoyed from parking lots and picnic benches in the relatively cramped confines of Yosemite Valley.

Visitors don’t even have to get out of their cars to gaze in wide-eyed wonder at sights they will probably remember for the rest of their lives.

And that’s the problem.

Traffic in the valley, especially on summer weekends, had become legendary by the end of the 2010s, inspiring think pieces with headlines such as “Inside Yosemite’s Traffic Meltdown” and “The Siege of Yosemite Valley.”

In June 2020, to limit crowds in the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, the park introduced a controversial system requiring a reservation before entering.

That left a lot of would-be visitors frustrated, but those lucky enough to snag a reservation were treated to the most peaceful, serene Yosemite Valley experience in years.

Since then, the reservation system has been tweaked repeatedly as administrators searched for a sweet spot between welcoming more visitors and retaining the peace of the great outdoors.

In February, the Trump administration, which had already slashed the national park system’s staff by about 25%, scrapped the reservation system and replaced it with “targeted management” of crowds.

“We are committed to visitor access, safety, and resource protection, and will continue active traffic management strategies to ensure a great visitor experience,” Yosemite Supt. Ray McPadden said at the time. “While reservation systems are one valuable management tool, our data demonstrates that a season-wide reservation requirement is not the most effective approach for the coming season.”

A crowd of tourists gather to take pictures of the Yosemite Valley on March 23, 2025, in Yosemite National Park.

(George Rose / Getty Images)

But the new approach is already getting harsh reviews, and the busy season hasn’t even begun.

During “Firefall” in February — an annual phenomenon when sunlight lands on the water cascading from Horsetail Fall, making it glow orange and red, like molten lava — the crowds were reportedly nightmarish.

“I spent over an hour stuck in traffic leaving the park, and exiting felt more like leaving a major sporting event than it did visiting a national park,” Mark Rose, a senior program manager for the National Parks Conservation Assn., a nonprofit devoted to protecting the park system, wrote in a blog post.

“I saw an ambulance stuck in standstill traffic announcing over a megaphone for pedestrians and vehicles to move out of the way,” Rose wrote. “The views were incredible, but I don’t think I’d ever go back without a reservation system in place.”

It left Rose worried about a return to the bad old days of Yosemite traffic, when visitors would wait forever just to get to the gate, pay the $35 entrance fee and then run into road blocks, with signs turning them away because the valley was too crowded.

“That was not an unusual situation,” Rose said. “To wait in line for close to two hours to get into the park and then just be stuck driving around for hours trying to find any parking at any location within the park.”

Over the weekend, the wait in traffic to simply get through the park entrance was an hour and a half, according to Lorena Calvillo from Fresno, who posted pictures and video of the traffic on Yosemite National Park’s official Facebook page.

And once she got in?

“Gridlock. Cars everywhere. People everywhere. No parking. No space,” Calvillo wrote.

“This all comes right after the reservation system was lifted … and honestly, it showed,” she added. “Officials were literally telling people to avoid the Valley.”

Another visitor, Richard Smekal, posted about the conga line of climbers who packed onto the cables leading to the Half Dome summit. He shared a photo of the cables empty when he arrived at 9 a.m., and another taken two hours later.

“After I got down, I turned around and took the second photo,” he wrote. “The line was a continuous stream of people, barely moving — basically at a standstill.”

The cables can be deadly, especially in thunderstorms, when they become a slippery lightning rod. Being stuck there in a human traffic jam is a nightmare many experienced hikers and climbers would do anything to avoid.

A spokesperson for Yosemite did not respond to requests for comment.

Traffic is at a standstill on the Yosemite Valley floor in the summer of 2017 while a bus lane is empty and off-limits to visitors at Yosemite National Park.

(Brian van der Brug / Los Angeles Times)