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!