46 of 100: Late 20th-century sculpture

I've been bingeing Schitt's Creek (for the third time) while my husband is off gallivanting in Norway. One of tonight's episodes had a scene involving a grant for public art awards, to be decided on by the Schitt's Creek town council. After several suggestions are batted down, Moira Rose pulls out her own proposal: a sculpture park.

I’d like us all to close our eyes and picture three to five hundred acres of carefully manicured lawn, accessorized with sculptures from some of the world’s most significant cultural contributors. On your left, a whimsical gestalt by David von Schlegell; on your right, a playful abstract by Isamu Noguchi; dead ahead, your senses have just been affronted by a Magdalena Abakanovicz. Now, imagine an even more splendacious art park in your very own backyard! Council, I humbly present: Rosewood.

Mind you, Schitt's Creek is—well, just about what you'd expect from a name like that. Sophistocated, not: with the marked exception of the Rose family. Though perhaps "pretentious" is the better word for them? (You really need to be able to "hear" the above quote in Moira/Catherine O'Hara's voice for any of this to make sense.)

In any case, I was curious about these named sculptors. And here's a little sampling. 

David von Schlegell (1920–1992), "whimsical gestalt":

Isamu Noguchi (1904–1988), "playful abstract":

Magdalena Abakanovicz (1930–2017), "your senses have just been affronted by":

Meanwhile, the crass and crude mayor, Roland Schitt, protests that there's no way they're going to get a Noguchi or a Schlegell—which just adds to the joke. 

What wins in the end: a singles week, an idea Moira stole from her daughter, then expanded from an evening to an entire week, but only to (she thought) elevate her own proposal—not realizing that a singles week might win. 

If you haven't seen Schittt's Creek, much of this won't mean much to you. But the hubris of late-twentieth-century sculpture should.

Interlude 3: Kamala Harris and the DNC finale

Just one today, because I missed it last night and I want to keep it here for posterity—fingers so very crossed that rationality and love of country will prevail. I will be writing letters to potential voters urging them to vote and donating $$$ to key campaigns—that's what I can do from here. And, I suppose, doing my own version of praying. Anyway, here's Kamala's acceptance speech:

And now I'm done lying about being done with political speeches—and will be returning to regular programming. But it feels good to feel somewhat heartened about the upcoming election. Though I will forever remain baffled by the fact that half this country can support, never mind trust, someone as odious—selfish, mean, and petty—as Trump (and his henchmen).

Interlude 2: Oprah and Pete at the DNC

I never watch political conventions. But this year? I am so enjoying the outpouring of joy and hope at this year's Democratic nominating convention, and the possibility that decency may prevail in November. And so I'll just post a couple more videos of speeches that I found impressive, from this evening, the third night of the convention. All of these people are zeroing in on different aspects of our national identity—because each of these people has their own personal experience of what it means to be an American. And I suppose I don't need to mention that it hasn't always been positive. (Black, gay, what can I say?)

First, a surprise speaker, Oprah Winfrey:

And Pete Buttigieg, secretary of transportation (though he never gets called that lately—he's just the former mayor of South Bend, Indiana):

And now I'm done with the political speeches. But honestly, and the reason I posted these here: I really do think I will draw inspiration and courage from watching some of these heartfelt and well-articulated speeches again. (And I've missed a bunch, but I promise there won't be a part 3.)

PS, I enjoyed Tim Walz's speech too, especially his "pep talk" at the end. But we'll be hearing more of the same in the next few weeks, I'm sure.

Interlude: HRC, MO, and BHO at the DNC

This was a really good, heartfelt speech, on day 1 of the Democratic National Convention.

Hillary would have been a good president too. But let's hope Kamala takes us there. Let's break that glass ceiling, once and for all.

And the next evening brought us both Michelle and Barack Obama. I loved listening to them. I am feeling hesitantly optimistic that we will not get "the bad orange man," as my friend Sherilyn calls him, again. It astonishes me that sensible people could prefer a narcissistic con man to smart, capable, committed, empathetic, patriotic individuals who want to support regular Americans... 

Anyway, political interlude over now. Back to regular programming.

45 of 100: Stand by Me

The other evening I watched the movie Ghostlight, about a man who's lost his 17-year-old son to a pill overdose, and he begins to work through his grief by becoming involved with an amateur (in the true sense of the word) production of Romeo and Juliet. It's a lovely movie—and I loved it that the main actors, playing the grieving family, are an actual family in real life. 

At one point, the movie featured the song "Stand by Me," which is irresistible. So I of course had to see if Playing for Change had ever done it. And of course they had:

(I kind of love it that the opening shot is on the Santa Monica Mall, in my hometown.)

But really, there is and can never be any better version than the original, by Ben E. King from 1961: 

That YouTube site says the song was inspired by a spiritual written by Sam Cooke and J. W. Alexander called "Stand by Me Father," recorded by the Soul Stirrers with Johnnie Taylor singing lead. Here's that one:

This Rolling Stone article presents twenty of the best covers of the song, including Otis Redding and the Kingsmen. Unfortunately, most of the links no longer work, but they're searchable: like this one, of John Lennon covering the tune:

As songs go, it's pretty perfect. Again: especially in King's own version. 

When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid
Oh, I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me...

Book Report: The Yellow Bus

14. Loren Long, The Yellow Bus (2024) 8/19/24

I am a quarter of the way through Lonesome Dove, 225 pages, 24 chapters, in: it is long! And so when a box of books arrived on my doorstep today, and one of them happened to be a children's picture book—I love me a beautiful picture book—I decided the Dove wouldn't mind if I forsook it for another book for, oh, fifteen minutes.

I first learned about The Yellow Bus in a New York Times article that describes the author, Loren Long's painstaking construction of a model town for the yellow bus, and the actual bus that served as his inspiration: abandoned in a farmer's field, with goats grazing nearby. The bus took over his imagination as he wondered about its life and all the people (and other creatures) who "filled it with joy." 

It's a lovely story of life and change, loss and renewal. In his notes at the end of the book, Loren writes: 

As I worked, I was struck by the fact that this story is about an object universally and instantly recognized as yellow. It was this yellow that I wanted to shine through the artwork, no matter where the bus was in her journey.

Perhaps for this reason, many of the images in the book are plain graphite, with the bus and its occupants providing the only burst of color. He continues:

Which brings me back to the yellow bus that I still run past every day. I'll probably never know how it got there and what its story actually is. But I'm thankful for that bus—for the life it had and for the one it has now. I'm thankful that it inspired me to think and reflect and imagine and create. And I'm thankful that when I look at my own life, I see many people who embody what the yellow bus is all about.

Here are some images from the book (they're in somewhat reverse order, but I'm including them for their graphic quality, not for a sense of story). The art, the copyright page says, "was crafted with graphite pencil, charcoal pencil, and charcoal dust on Epson Doubleweight Matte paper; it was scratched out with X-Acto blades and smudged with Q-tips. The colors were created with acrylic paint, and all of it was mixed with whatever dust and dog hair may have been floating in the artist's studio."

And finally, here are a couple of photos from the NYT article, of Long's working drawings on his drafting table and of the town he built. I love to see the creative process in action. And I love this book.

44 of 100: Mary Delany, collagist

Yet more flowers: today, by the Englishwoman Mary Delany (1700–1788), who when she was 72 noticed the similarity between the petals of a geranium and a piece of red paper she spotted lying on a table. She took up some scissors and soon had created a convincing facsimile of the flower. And on she went, fashioning nearly 1,000 "cut flowers" or, as she called them, "mosaicks" before failing eyesight forced her to stop in 1782. The collection, known as the Flora Delanica, filled ten albums, which came to the British Museum in 1897, bequeathed by her niece, and today are among the most-viewed items in the Department of Prints and Drawings. (The entire collection is browsable here.) Her skill was such that the great 18th-century botanist Sir Joseph Banks declared her collages to be "the only imitations of nature" he had ever seen from which he "could venture to describe botanically any plant without the least fear of committing an error."

Sometimes she touched up her creations with watercolor, or incorporated a bit of plant material itself—as in this winter cherry or Chinese lantern (Physalis sp.). 

But mostly, they were simply paper. Here are a few more of her creations. And to think, she started at age 72! Maybe there's hope for me yet.

Centaurea cyanis, 1779

Aloe perfoliata, 1780

Cyclamen europaeum, 1777

Helianthus annuus (Great Sun-flower), 1772–82

Paeonia tenuifolia, 1778

Rosa gallica, 1782

Pancratium maritimum (Sea Daffodil), 1778

Passiflora laurifolia: bay leaved, 1777
(with over 230 paper petals in the bloom)

Crinum zeylanicum (Asphodil Lilly), 1778