T
he North Beach district
in San Clemente is known for its sparkling coastline, midweek farmers market, and lively restaurant scene. It’s also the setting of a tableau that leaves passerbyers puzzled. On a quiet street, in the window front of a building marked only with a sign that reads “You Are Here” you’ll find the Squirrels of Los Molinos Street. Three well-dressed mannequins pose in a small windowed room adorned with accordions, ceramic crows and an assortment of furniture and art. The trio of dummies wear rubber squirrel masks and depict ever-changing scenes, only moving positions every so often, week to week, month to month. A sensor detects when pedestrians pass the strange scene, activating music ranging from jazz to country to polka, adding to the sense of confusion and disbelief with each walk by the strange scene. Few know of the Squirrels of Los Molinos Street and even fewer know of their origin or meaning. What is housed in the mysterious building? Why are the squirrels there, and who keeps changing their poses? What exactly does “You Are Here” mean? “It all started in Austin four years ago,” Diane Donaldson says. Donaldson and her husband and fellow artist James were looking at art in Texas. “We got the first mask at one of those ‘hip-and-now’ stores.” She decided to have a little fun with their new. “I had the squirrel head and I was in bed. There was a knock at the door, so I get up with the blanket wearing the squirrel head and go to the door and it was someone from the hotel that was there for something else. I said ‘I thought you were my husband’ which I’m sure didn’t help.” They brought the mask home that summer and shortly after, purchased the building on Los Molinos Street which would serve as their art studio. The two additional squirrel masks were purchased online, and the mannequins were purchased one at a time in downtown Los Angeles. The company that makes the squirrel masks do indeed make other animal masks. Donaldson has thought about buying more creatures other than the famed rubber rodents at the studio but has since reconsidered. 34 • Orange Appeal • May 2018
“I’m really kind of married to the squirrels,” Donaldson says. While the scenes are ever-changing, the masks are not. “They live ‘Here.’” As for the signs out front, they signify the name of the building that houses Donaldson and James’ studio. “We tried figuring out a name for the building and decid-
“The one of the two spacemen walking has been on Del Mar now for seven or eight years.” DIANE DONALDSON ed to call it ‘Here’” Donaldson says. The ceramic crows that accompany the squirrels are scattered around the studio. Donaldson makes them out of clay with a mold she produced. Donaldson also made several ceramic squirrels that are laying about. They’re much smaller than the trio in the window. “A lot of people don’t notice them
when they pass by,” Donaldson says. “The people that do - they’re my tribe. They always get a kick out of it.” Another mystery centered around San Clemente is a set of inexplicable metal placards scattered downtown. On an unnamed road that spans from Avenida Valencia all the way to El Portal, nailed into telephone poles are rectangular sheets of metal with cryptic images and messages like “What’s new on Earth?” and pictures of two astronauts, one with a briefcase, walking down a street. Pedestrians that walk this alleyway, which intersects the top portion of Del Mar, are left clueless as to what these messages mean and who has been leaving them. Once again, the people behind this mystery are Donaldson and James. “They’re like forms of haiku leaving people always surprised,” Donaldson says. “He made about fifty of them,” Donaldson says. James hasn’t put any new placards up in the past year, and quite a few of the remaining placards have been written on, scratched up and even taken. “I hope they go to good homes.” The placards have been a part of San