Wrought Iron Arbor
The plants in the Denver Botanical Gardens are still in the full glory of late summer. We came upon a finely-wrought arbor with delicate iron vines arching up into the bright blue sky. Asters and seed-laden grasses spilled across the gravel paths. Bees hummed and dragonflies darted to and from a nearby pond. It was a perfect day.
The White House Now
If you want to see the White House, you must first figure out which sidewalks have not been closed off with orange caution tape. Then you will walk between two or more parallel sets of fencing whose main purpose seems to be to severely shrink the areas where groups of people can gather. No one can cross the street. The "Do Not Enter" signs are on every other fence, reinforced by police, FBI, or random National Guard folks. From a distance, you can see what used to be proudly known as the People’s House. Notice that one of the new, redundant extra-large flagpoles partly blocks the view. Then turn around and look at the small Peace Tent, right there on the edge of Lafayette Park, manned (and womanned) continuously for 40 years by peace activists. There are no barriers–you can go right up and talk to them.
At the Dairy Barn Arts Center
The Dairy Barn Arts Center in Athens, Ohio is especially known for the biennial Quilt National exhibit. The smaller galleries hold other treasures. "Reanimation" focuses on the work of Adrian Desjardins, a mixed media artist. Many of his artworks incorporate serviceable items that might be discarded by a construction company after a series of old-house renovations. My favorite piece is called "Everyone Gets a Turn." The faucet handles create a rhythm that is set off by the textured wood squares. Those squares hearken back to the simplest of quilt patterns. The Quilt National art in the adjoining gallery represents the cutting edge of what can be considered a quilt. Many incorporate repurposed or non-traditional materials. Mr Desjardins pieces are a thought-provoking complement to the quilts in Quilt National.
Pink Rose of Sharon
Over the years, the rose of sharon has been my garden nemesis. While it can form an attractive screen dotted with blooms in late summer, it’s also a vigorous volunteer. I find volunteers growing in the shrubby border between our proper and that of our neighbor, in the narrow crack between garden edge and sidewalk, even sprouting tall from the middle of our low-spreading catalpa. It’s a flower preserved in cloth by many a quilter over the past 200 years, with leaves pointing outward, blossoms translated into gently scalloped circles, centers sometimes embellished with embroidery. It’s nice to see the growing plants but I do prefer the quilted versions, which are more well behaved.
Fun In The Sprinkler
A couple of young mothers brought their children to the park last week, on a very hot day. Park workers had set out sprinklers to water some of the very thirsty plants. The children ran in and out, under the arching cascade of drops, screaming with delight and the joy of being free to race around. The smallest boy was fascinated by the way the water ran through his toy truck. He studied the gush of water with the intensity of a physics professor on the cusp of a new breakthrough. And I am sure he was ready for his nap later.
Fence Shadows
Late in the afternoon on a hot summer day, I came across a schoolyard fence laced with children’s Post-It sized pieces of art. While the art was charming and colorful, it was the shadows on the sidewalk that really spoke to me. The shadow version was distilled down to lines and shapes. There was just enough interplay of order and disorder to keep me looking at the pattern. I re-photographed it in black and white–something that so often seems "right" in a city scene.
Ripening Figs
As a kid, my only experience with figs was as the gooey filling inside Fig Newtons. These days, they are offered at the farmers market, thanks in part to our warming climate. Fig trees grow in yards in my neighborhood. This one has been especially productive. While the fruits were still tiny green knobs, I spent some time wondering about how fig leaves became the modesty covering of choice in paintings of otherwise nude figures. Now I see the figs ripening a bit more each day and my thoughts turn to whether the homeowners will get to eat the figs before the hungry squirrels do.
