When I arrived at Houston’s answer to Chicago’s Bean, all I saw was a Bullet.
Ellen’s post and pictures last week lured me back to the road, this time to the Cullen Sculpture Garden.
Call it a silver siren song. Gleaming, mirrored surfaces screamed out. Release pent-up creative energy. Retrieve roadtrip memories.
Three years ago, DH and I road-tripped to Chicago. A swing by its Bean was vital. We were too old for Lollapalooza but never too cranky for playtime.
Remembering that long-ago pose, Houston beckoned the same treatment. Same dress. Different hair.
Happy pose notwithstanding, I hated Houston’s Bullet. Immediately.
Can you see the rope-like steel cable that wraps the granite base? It prevents human touch. Saving Windex money?
Look a little closer. See reflections of cracked eggshell below? Translation: metaphor for an ever-expanding urban area with its multiple, diverse personalities. Truth?
In the shadows loom omnipresent building cranes. Prepping walls and floors of concrete. Another anniversary this month. Hurricane Harvey; Houston floods. We pour more concrete this storm season?
Step a pace or two to the left. Spy the first thing to love of this Bullet art. A concave side revealing…a ghost? A baby bear?
What do you see?
Lay down this baby and she’s a bed for cradling. Lush bedding mandatory. Not now, though. It’s August in Houston.
Can I sleep here in December? A Christmas present to myself? No. Guards say “no touch! Ever!”
Fine. Playtime calls.
First. Let’s play compare & contrast. Look at the pair of images below. Ask, as I did: when did local art go to the birds?
Ah, Monday philosophizing about art — be it beans, bullets, bears, or birds — beats writing on a novel.
To life! To distraction!