Mother's Day Mementoes

Flowers by Mark. . .

. . .  and face jug by Miranda.  Lucky me. 

Within Eyeshot

At the Newseum last weekend I especially enjoyed watching videos of Pulitzer Prize-winning photographers describe the sequence of events that led to the shooting of their photos.  The first one we selected was the Kent State picture where Mary Vecchio, the young teenager, cries over the body of the gunned-down student Jeffrey Miller in 1970 (click here).  John Filo, the photographer, explains how he thought at first that he had the perfect picture when he captured a student waving a black flag in front of the National Guard.  It was only moments later when he understood that real bullets were being fired and turned unexpectedly to capture the iconic photograph of the student protest movement.

We also watched Sal Veder describe his photograph of returning American POW Robert Stirm whose family, in 1973, rushed to greet him on the tarmac at Travis Air Force Base (click here).  Veder, too, came upon the picture without much thought.  Initially he was taking pictures of the crowd when he saw "a little movement out of the corner of [his] eye," and turned quickly to photograph Stirm's family--an image of joy frozen in time.

Even Joe Rosenthal, who shot the raising of the flag at Iwo Jima, was going for a more posed picture that day in 1945 (click here).  When he came upon a group of Marines planning to replace a small American flag with a larger one that could be seen all over the island, he began calculating his angle and position to get the picture.  He spoke briefly to another photographer when, all of the sudden, the Marines began hoisting the pole.  He clicked and captured what may be the most famous picture of all.

These photographers all thought they were doing one thing when, in fact, they ended up doing something else--something far more significant than they understood at the time.  I wonder if life works like this more often than we realize.  When we spend so much energy focused on our children, or a job, or an illness, or despair, is it possible that something else--something hidden and not fully understood--is happening at the same time?

Maybe we don't need to be as scripted as we think.  We need to show up, of course, and to pay attention, but maybe the high points of our lives aren't the ones we plan.  Maybe they're the ones that form in the corners of our eyes. 

Click.  That photo you took on the fly may turn out better than you expect.

Color in the Capital

In Washington, D. C., this past weekend, we saw color everywhere.  The Matisse Cut-Outs at the National Gallery burst with color as did the neighboring sculptures and mobiles of Alexander Calder.  Works such as Crinkly Worm and Black Camel with Blue Head and Red Tongue made us want to laugh out loud.

But across the street at the Newseum, the displays were more muted.  There we saw a portion of the Berlin Wall, which, though covered with graffiti on one side, is blank and dull on the other.  Black and white Pulitzer Prize-winning photographs line the walls downstairs, and the horror of 9/11 is captured in a video where a NYC reporter describes the rubble of the twin towers as "monochromatic."

Life comes to us in many shades.  Sometimes black and white is all we can take.  Other times gray is forced upon us, as the East Berlin side of the Wall so vividly shows.  And other times, when life is really bleak, we can see only one shade.

If we're lucky, Matisse and Calder show up every so often, and whimsy and mirth take over for awhile.

"The Scream"

That "The Scream" sold for nearly $120 million last night at Sotheby's seems fitting.  It is the symbol of our time, after all, and only increases in relevance as life grows more bizarre.  All you need to do is read the front page of any American newspaper or listen to the evening news, and you'll feel exactly like the figure in Edvard Munch's pastel.

A Day at the Gardens

Every year our family visits the outdoor sculpture exhibit at the North Carolina Botanical Garden. We stroll the grounds,


study the lily ponds,


and lose ourselves in the bamboo.


We marvel at human-made spiders,


nests,


and miscellaneous botanic forms.


Finally, we enjoy a ten-year-old's response. . .


to a nude.

Sculpture in the Garden

You never know who you'll run into at the annual outdoor sculpture show at the North Carolina Botanical Gardens in Chapel Hill. This year's artists were asked to interpret the theme "Celebrating Life Forces--earth, air, fire, water, spirit."

Amazonian cats, ethereal women, angry stone men, they're all there to discover as you wander the lovely gardens. With friends and family, the show is a great way to spend a fall afternoon in Carolina.

The Art of the Steal

The Art of the Steal is an all-American story. A chronicle of the Barnes Foundation--the collection of post-Impressionist art in Merion, Pennsylvania--the film captures many of our nation's themes:

The iconoclast who thumbs his nose at the establishment.

The self-made man who doesn't forget his roots.

The neighbors who band together to defend their territory.

The city that robs its suburbs.

The power families who run everything.

The politicians who sleep with the elite.

The whiff of conspiracy that accompanies money.

The issue of race that haunts the landscape.

The rich and powerful who always succeed.

It's too bad that the Barnes Foundation can't stay where it is. Soon to be housed along museum row in Philadelphia, it will lose the character that Dr. Barnes intended to preserve. His American story--a visionary who saw and collected art for ordinary citizens to enjoy--collided with that other American story--the one where opportunists exploit vulnerability for power and wealth.

Go see the Barnes collection before it moves. Participate in the story that Dr. Barnes told, however quirky and unconventional you might find it.

You'll be glad you did.

Art to the Rescue

The teaching of art, at least in elementary school, isn't what it used to be. Gone are the days when you trace your fingers to make a turkey or spend weeks learning to paint a tree. Art teachers today use all types of media--yarn, paint, clay, beads--to help kids find the artist inside. Each child is successful; if you can't paint a tree, you can weave a mat. If you can't weave a mat, you can shape a pot. If you can't shape a pot, you can copy Matisse and produce a cutout. At day's end, each kid is an artist.

Which makes me wonder about all the handwringing over the state of education today. Good news, of course, goes unreported, so people don't know the amazing work in art and music and drama taking place in many of our schools. And, of course, some schools have dropped these programs altogether, so there's nothing to report. But if art teachers can find ways to educate kids and bring out their talent, why can't teachers of academic subjects do the same?

Perhaps the spirit of creativity and flexibility that underlies the teaching of art needs to be restored to the teaching of math and reading. Where there used to be time for academic teachers to engage their students through a variety of media--not unlike art teachers--they're now forced to prepare their students for standardized tests. If you feel a big yawn coming on, you're not the only one.

The tests are boring. Practice worksheets come home constantly. And despite the effort to make the tests inclusive and multicultural, the fact that Miguel buys 10 pounds of apples instead of Michelle doesn't eliminate the tedium. Standardized tests have an occasional place in education, but the everyday use of them has rendered inspired, creative instruction obsolete.


Thank God for the artists. In these bleak days when the "Race to the Top" means more standards and more tests, I'll take a sunflower any day. And it doesn't even need to be yellow.