On Wednesday of this week, I finished an 8‐week collage course at the Art League Houston. It was taught, lead and inspired by Sasha Dela. Here is my final 3‐D art piece which of course shows Halloween art, because I love Halloween! As much as I love it, it pales in comparison to the works of my classmates. We were a class full of women all interested in expanding our artistic knowledge and experience. They were all wonderful and I learned so much from every one of them. So, in honor to my wonderful classmates and artists, here is the work they showed on the last day of class. All of the pictures were taken by me. They were sometimes taken at weird angles during our class critique. Please forgive my photography and I hope you enjoy the art as much as I have.
What a great group of artists! What a great group of women! I was so fortunate to spend my summer with them.
Tuesday. Drove to Hermann Park with Dear Friend (DF). We wanted to spend some time outside on a beautiful cool day with art, squirrels and ducks. This particular park is a wonderful place to go for a walk. There are concrete paths, gravel paths, and lots of grass to walk on. There are also many trees, benches and picnic tables. DF and I walked and sat and walked and sat some more. We absorbed as much of the park as we could and committed it to memory. I took pictures with a real camera (as opposed to the camera on my phone).
This particular sculpture was a topic of discussion last year when I took the Women In Art class at the Glassell. The artist who created this piece was sculptor, Hannah Stewart. The title of the work is Atropos Key and is located on top of the hill at Miller Theater.
Since it was a weekday, there were not too many people. Foot traffic did pick up during the lunch hour with several people escaping an office setting to commune with nature. Some folks just walked and others sat on benches and visited with the ducks. Some folks walked alone, some in pairs and others in small groups. The squirrels kept an eye on everyone who wandered through.
Wednesday. DF was in the hospital getting ready for some surgery. Nothing major or life threatening, but necessary. Sometimes a road trip involves being wheeled around a hospital (or accompanying someone who is being wheeled around a hospital). From admitting room, to pre‐op holding room, to operating room, to recovery room, to hospital bedroom. I spent the day either by his bedside or sitting in the waiting room. Surgery was scheduled for 11:30 a.m., but he was not wheeled into the operating room until 1:00 p.m. He pulled through the surgery like a champ. Only a 5 hour wait in the recovery room before DF is moved to a private room. Once I was assured he was comfortable in his room and tucked in for the night, I left with the promise to return the next day to transport him home. Nurses checked on him every hour.
Both before and after surgery, we spent time in curtained cubicles where we caught some strange snippets of conversations.
A doctor said, “Your wound is safe. You could put WD40 on it and it still wouldn’t get infected. You won’t have any problem with a shower.”
A nurse said to a co‐worker, “No, it’s an hour and a half. Do not try to add another 1/2 hour to my life.”
A nurse said towards the end of the shift to someone we could not see,“I don’t like coffee. I don’t like the way it looks. I don’t like the way it smells. I don’t like the way it tastes. I don’t even like the look of coffee beans. Coffee is not my friend.”
Thursday. DF and I had hoped for a hospital discharge by 11:00 a.m. No such luck. There were no more road trips around the hospital. Lots of waiting in the room. The nurse continued to visit every hour. Finally by 3:00 p.m. DF was sitting in a wheelchair on his way to the front door of the hospital.
Once out in the sunshine, we drove off in my car. We went to a drug store for meds and then to Brasil’s for an early dinner. I drove slowly through tree lined neighborhoods. Classical music played on the radio. Now life began to return to what can be considered normal.
In these days of red and green, I cringe. Orange is My Color.
Imagine my delight when this little orb danced into my line of sight.
Its mutant reflection calmed concerns about aging handwriting.
Triple bonus came upon realizing this is my first‐observed orange Christmas decoration.
If this is the wave of future noels, I’m all in.
The exploding consumerism of the holiday season sickens me. I avoid malls and stores. I toss every catalog as it arrives.
Our house decorations are deliberate and minimal. Fireplace nutcracker. Santa moose. Seven‐inch white ceramic tree. German music box.
Red and green candles atop the dining table remind us this is the season to slow down, offer light, pay attention, and breathe deep. Ignore what does not enhance Life.
I call it a season for the senses: see; listen; smell; touch, taste. No cash required. No purchases needed. Only savory observation.
Like an unexpected orange Christmas decoration.
I’d gone to Sugar Land’s Town Center to observe our infamous “Selfie” sculpture.
The bronze piece outraged many people at its unveiling. Even Good Morning America featured the art. Why the fuss?
“Selfie” is fun, engaging, and contemporary.
If we want to engage more people in appreciating artwork, we must experiment, modernize some creations.
Is that not partly why Lin‐Manuel Miranda’s “Hamilton” still shines?
The same answer applies to painting, writing, dancing, etc.–name your art form.
One of the models for “Selfie” is Morgan, the niece of fellow RoadBroad Kay Cox. After my traffic box post last week, Kay enlightened me about the prevalence of public art in Sugar Land.
My cosmopolitan pride needed the education and the reminder: it’s never too late to learn. And so, I returned to the road.
Since, I’ve wandered across Sugar Land’s parks, streets, sidewalks, plazas and bridges. A wealth of public art surfaced. Color‐filled traffic light boxes at 13 intersections. Another 18 installations of bronze, iron, granite, and glass in sculpture, mobile, monument, and tiled form, all encircling an old Brazos River sugar town.
What about where you live? Is there public art? Please tell us more!
In seeing how other communities create their art spaces, we each learn. As we share with each other, we enrich both our communities and our own lives. Thus, change gains wings.
It’s not just stories we need. We need art. In all its forms.
P.S. Notice the orange shirt in the “Selfie” picture?
Unplanned for this blog post.
Like that orange orb, floating katey‐cornered from where I stood.