Dress Forms With A View

It's time for the annual Quilt Surface Design Symposium. Last year, for the first time, it was held at the Columbus College of Art and Design. This dredged up memories of my own college days. At my university, the Fashion Design department was the stepchild of the arts, relegated to soul-stifling  windowless rooms in the engineering building. At CCAD, light pours through tall windows in a beautiful classroom full of sewing machines. Late each afternoon, I would creep down to visit the dress forms standing near the windows. Gathered in threes and fours, the tableau reminded me of some silent, frozen cocktail party, one at which no one could decide what to wear. No heads, no arms, no legs, but I am quite sure they enjoy the view.

Haarlem Scissors

While searching for last week's train station photo, I remembered this. Are those really scissors? Who knows? What they are doing set into the street outside the big church near the Market Square, I haven't a clue. But surely I was not the first fiber artist to be surprised and delighted to come round a corner and discover them. Okay, now wait a minute. If you approach from the opposite direction, the scissors become...what? Two giant wands for waving in the air and making giant bubbles. Why is this here and what is it really supposed to be? It's a happy mystery.

Haarlem Train Station

Sometimes an image rises back up into your mind for no obvious reason. This week, for me, it was the elegant 1908 train station in Haarlem, not far from Amsterdam. Although I often think about the colorful tiles that ornament the station, this daydream found me back on the platform looking out beyond the repeating  arches, so lacy and yet so strong. I shot this photo in both color and in black and white. They are very similar, but today, at least,  the black and white one more accurately captures my momentary reverie.

Phone Call With Graffiti

You never know what may be around the next corner. Waiting to cross a street, I spied this girl in her big-city-black ensemble, standing in a graffiti-covered doorway. It looked as beautiful as the most carefully planned fashion shoot. I have mixed feelings about graffiti. In the grittier sections of a city, it strikes me as more ornamental than vandalistic, adding color and pattern to a grim, gray world. What can possibly be wrong with that?