A New Leaf

 

Last July, I could be seen trudging through the Transit Center, lugging a tote and a bag full of groceries. Peeking out from one of those bags was a potted orchid, checking out the world beyond its nursery and the market's flower display for the first time in its bloomin' life. 

It had twelve flowers, all of which lasted until a couple weeks ago, falling off one by one. I trimmed back the remaining stems, hoping that the plant would last until next year, bringing with it a new batch of its pink and white blooms.

I did not expect to see a baby leaf emerging from within the larger plant, but it showed up not long before the remaining flowers fell off. The morning sun shines on it, showing its graceful curves and colors. While I like it just as it is, I want it to become strong like its parent leaves.

I've titled this post "A New Leaf", the same title of one of my favorite movies. I remember reading the short story, written by Elaine May, in The Saturday Evening Post, and when the movie came out in 1971, I think I was one of the few people to see it. I laughed so hard. The movie was both written and directed by Elaine May, but the studio, dissatisfied with her edits and perfectionism, took it away from her. Damn shame. And shame on them.

https://youtu.be/8Ilo6XbNG1M

Red, White, and Green

 And so it begins. ...

Redbirds in the Window

 A couple weeks ago, as I walked across the large expanse of lobby at Newfields, I noticed this grove of trees, decorated with tiny lights and a flock of cardinals. Years ago, I would decorate my own tree in similar fashion, hanging felted redbirds and white doves I'd bought at after-Christmas sales. The affect of their colors against the green of my tree was striking. Luckily, these little birds are inexpensive, so I may get some to re-boot the theme next year. IF I can find a place to put a tree.

Thanksgiving Day: Love, Science, and Dr. Fauci

 

Initially, my family had planned, like millions of others, to gather for our annual Thanksgiving dinner and Craft Day. But as the Covid-19 infections began an ominous rise in our state, we all decided to stay in our bunkers, hunkering down as the virus's Dementors prowl outside our windows. It's hard because we don't get together often to visit, drink the local brews, and help the kids make Christmas decorations. We've all tried to be careful: to wear our masks, wash our hands, limit our contact with other people, and avoid un-necessary outside excursions. But it is what it is; we will make it through.

I went to the store to buy the makin's for my own little feast. I told my brother and sister I would have my dinner of turkey, dressing, truffled mashed potatoes, and Brussels sprouts and enjoy them with a picture of Flat Dr. Fauci pinned up across the table from me.

And I did. There he is, Flat Dr. Fauci, his intelligent, killer blue eyes staring tolerantly at my carb-heavy meal. (No seconds! I was full!) I wonder if he understands just how much he is admired and appreciated for his efforts to guide us through this difficult time?

https://storycorps.org/stories/this-thanksgiving-the-faucis-reflect-on-family-and-gratitude/

  

Red, White, and Christmas

 

While poinsettia are stacked into Christmas tree shape in the front lobby at Newfields, I much prefer this simpler arrangement towards the back of the building.

"Holes" and "Lilies"

This installation is "Holes" by Chicago-based artist, Anders Hurwald Ruhwald. Every few years, the museum commissions a new installation for the main entry, of which this is the most recent.

This installation is a doormat. Found in the breezeway at the front entrance, I thought it a precursor to the circles of "Holes" to be seen just beyond, in the museum lobby.

This installation, now located at the back entrance to Newfields, near the Toby Theatre, is one of the earlier commissions displayed in the main lobby. Windows in the lobby have been covered with colored film. The glass panels turn in the circulating air, reflecting the colors, which are based on the palette used by Claude Monet when painting his series of "Water Lilies". 

Winter Is Coming

 The Winter Solstice will take place in the Northern Hemisphere on Monday, December 21st. In Indianapolis the Solstice will happen at 5:02 a.m. EST.

I know that only because I looked it up.

If we all work together, set our clocks for the time, we can be awake to hear winter creaking through our front doors, stirring a bit of frost in the air, and putting extra chill in our joints.

To me, it is a reminder that, after the Solstice has cast itself on the land, the days begin to lengthen, leaning towards the flowers of Spring, and the warmth of Summer suns.   

Christmas in August

 When I visited Newfields in August, I found the museum's electricians, technicians, arborists, and gardeners hard at work. They were beginning the installation of the annual Winterlights exhibit that opened to the public November 21st, 2020 and runs through until January 3rd, 2021.

There was so much shade under the tree in the top photo that I was able to get a shot showing its glimmering little lights. In August these lights made me think of fireflys; in winter I'm sure they'll look like glittering stars in a clear night sky.

#Winterlights

Minimalism: Limestone Bench and Purple Flowers

 

Bright and Colorful

The holiday season at Newfields* is marked by the museum's presentation of Winterlights, a decorative light show using over a million-and-a-half lights to create displays. One of the few displays that can be enjoyed during daylight hours is this Christmas tree, made up of re-purposed little kids' toys.

 

My favorite part of the tree was the topper.

Made up of pool noodles, the topper reminds me of old Sputnik more than it does a star.

Again, this is a plastic tree, made up of children's toys that are very likely to be discarded not long after they are received. I think it serves as a prescient warning of how much waste we create.

Purple, Chartreuse, and A Slash of Red

 The way that busy-body bit of red danced in 

to flit around the purple and chartreuse 

leaves caught my eye.

 "Here comes an analogous in to dive-bomb 

a couple complementarys!" 

"Zoom!" "Pow!"

The green leaves? Neutral observers.

  

Not Dishwasher Safe: A Very Large Feather Leaves Bowl

 This beautiful piece was created by Japanese artist Hitomi Hosono in 2018, and acquired by Newfields in 2019. The artist is inspired by nature she sees in Japan and England, where she has a studio. The bowl, about 11 inches in diameter, is made of porcelain leaves that were all molded, carved, and arranged by hand. Hosono spent a month working on the bowl, which then had to dry for fourteen months before it could be fired. 

Cheery Roscoe

 One morning, not so many weeks ago, I awoke to a scene very much like this one,  but two hours earlier - 5:30 a.m. The only difference was that of a faint orange glow, cast by the alarm clock numbers onto my bedding. "Wow!" I thought. "Chiaroscuro!" I said.   "I will take a picture!" I did. The result was a black rectangle showing only the numerals from the clock, not even the small triangle of light sneaking through the window blind. So I laid there, dozing in and out, taking a picture once in a while, until both the window and clock showed in my image. As you can see, it wasn't until two hours later, at 7:36 a.m., that both the light of dawn and time could be seen, but try as I might, the soft orange glow did not appear. 

That must be a special treat for those who are awake at 5:30 a.m.

P.S., Don't be surprised if a version of this post pops up elsewhere; I am needing an item for The Very Boring Group (TVBG) page. This may be it.

 

So Much Beauty ...

 

So little time. Meh. That's a lie, I had plenty of time. There were a couple of exhibits I wanted to see and looking at the Asian art required my leaping into a rabbit hole. I wasn't in the mood for it.

I did go into a small gallery showing etchings and paintings by three Japanese artists. I'd visited them before, and again sat in awe of the skill and finesse of  this beautiful ink and pigment drawing by Shinoda Toko. Called "Release", it was created in 1979.

"The line I drew yesterday and the line I draw today are different -- line by line, I imagine and create, and something new inhabits the line." -- Shinoda Toko

 

Someone had thoughtfully provided a bench where visitors could sit in contemplation of the work. It was designed and made by George Nakashima, an icon of furniture making the world over, not just in the United States. 

First introduced in 1960, the Conoid Bench was named to honor the completion of the artist's Conoid Studio. The benches are each produced to work with and accentuate the beauty of the wood selected to make it. While each may vary a bit in size and shape, they all share common features designed to enhance the characteristics of the wood.

I've seen the benches for sale on-line at prices ranging from several thousand dollars into the mid-five figures. They are like grails for some people, and so it was when I saw this bench. There was no warning against my sitting on it, so I sat, and contemplated the large ink drawing on the opposite wall.

https://nakashimawoodworkers.com/furniture/conoid-bench/

Little Red Berries

 

Just after I left the Newfields main building to begin my walk of the grounds, I was greeted by this pretty scene. As I stood for a few moments to take it all in, an older woman, head down and on a mission walked by. "Ugly," she said. "It's all ugly." I stood there, my mouth hanging open, a look of puzzlement on my face. Surely she was being sarcastic, because it's beautiful. It's all beautiful.

Side Chair

 I was drawn to this chair when I first laid eyes on it. It's in the design exhibit at Newfields, a place that is full of beautiful things, which purchased it in 2009.

Called the "Etruscan Side Chair," it was designed by American-born artist Danny Lane, whose studio in London turns out myriad gorgeous sculpture 

and furniture items. The pieces I saw on his website seemed to be predominately made of glass, steel, and wood.

 

Initially fabricated from mild steel, the Etruscan Chair was first produced by Lane in 1986, with the most recent made in 2016. An auction record I saw recently listed the proposed selling price at 

$14,000 to $15,000 for one chair. 

One chair. At that price, I want a set of them for

the dining room. 

Artful

 Maybe, just maybe the trees, grasses, bushes and flowers know they live at Newfields. 

They're loved and taken care of so maybe they decide, like this solitary yellow leaf, 

to stand up when the occasion is offered, 

to provide visitors with opportunities 

to take their pictures.

Good job, little leaves. Good job

A Sun-Shiny Day

 Around here oak trees turn brown in autumn. Just brown. You can look across a whole landscape in Southern Indiana and see it as a sea of matte raw sienna. Then again, given the right sort of weather, the leaves can give you beautiful flames. 

I had just started my walk of the Newfields* grounds when I looked up to see this oak leaf , the sun shining through like stained glass against the blue sky. Nature had just made me a gift.

*Formerly called the Indianapolis Museum of Art.

Fire and Ice

 

There they are, occupying a corner outside the Journalism Building at IUPUI, 

so simple and unassuming as to be overlooked - 

these lovely plants that set off each others' contrasting colors. 

Silver and gold. 

Fire and ice.

By themselves - meh, but together their colors

 make a bright, happy scene on a dreary day.

 

Analogous

 "Analogous," a word meaning, generally, having shared similarities, has been a part of my daily vocabulary for over fifty years, whenever I plan a color scheme for some project or another. Today, "analogous" is this yellow pansy, which shares its color with the fading orange chrysanthemums and its own green stems. The nursery workers who plan these pots for the downtown area certainly know what they're doing. I wonder how many flats of yellow pansies and pots of orange mums they had to order to cover this year's plantings?

Meanwhile, the little purple guys nearby are holding their own, providing a bright contrast to the borders of dried out, browned hydrangeas behind them.

Little Red Flowers at the IMA

 

When the Indianapolis Museum of Art (rechristened Newfields) reopened this summer, after being shut down by the unrelenting Covid virus, I felt like I must have been one of the first in line to visit. It's the one place where I am just as comfortable exploring the grounds as I am looking at the art.

On this day, I headed towards the Beer Garden the minute I'd checked in at the gate. As I nibbled on a small tray of charcuterie and nursed a local beer, I watched as butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds darted among the flowers, tending to the tasks of sipping nectar and gathering pollen.

 

The Museum reopened with protocols in place - social distancing, masks required and a limited number of people admitted to the grounds at any one time.  I think the crowd control has actually added to the experience: one doesn't feel overwhelmed by the number of people, allowing for greater enjoyment of the grounds and the art. In fact, I returned to visit the place two or three times since just because I am able to enjoy the environment without being shoulder-to-shoulder with other visitors.

"Echinacea!" "Gesundheit!"

 What worries me is that so many of the people 

who have made these past four years

so unpleasant, to say the least, are going to be able 

to fade back into the woodwork, 

hidden by their whiteness, and that virtually 

none of them will be held accountable 

for their actions and cruelties. 

This past week I had to come to terms with

 the fact that I could be confronted by someone, 

very much like me, who had a gun, 

who wanted neither my money nor my pussy - 

but who just wanted me dead because ... 

just because I did not support a corrupt, 

stupid racist. Now I begin to understand a bit 

of what black people mean when they say 

"never trust a white person."

 And you can bet your mortgage that the cop who murdered George Floyd did not vote for Biden.

I've Just About Gotta Post Something

     Along with millions of other Americans, 

I feel like a load has been lifted from my shoulders. 

The last four years has been a nightmare of dysfunctional government 

that threatens the welfare of all people. 

Suddenly, the air seems fresher, 

as though dreams are still possible to achieve. 

As if people matter.

Purple and Yellow Are Complimentary Colors ...

And speak very well of each other.

 

No. Please. Just. No.

 

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, It's Off to Work the Polls I Go

 In anticipation of unpleasant results from the elections, the local news stations tonight were covering the steps downtown Indy merchants were taking to protect their businesses from damage by rioters. Many have covered their shop windows in plywood to preventing shattering.

Late this afternoon, I went to the grocery to buy some items to take with me tomorrow and found the place to be as crowded as if it were an approaching holiday. It's not. I got the distinct feeling people were preparing to hunker down - away from the virus, away from trouble.

I've worked the polls at many other elections, but this one is different. This time I'm scared. It's like being stalked by an estranged spouse, one who has a gun and a bunch of disreputable lackeys. 

Please, vote blue. Save our lives, our country from this criminal and his minions. 

Walking Through the Rain to Go Swimming

 

When the city's gardeners change the flowers in the giant concrete urns from the waxy red blooms to giant heads of purple cabbage, I know that winter is soon to follow. Sometimes they're pretty, especially when the morning sun shines through the leaves. That's when they make art out of the winter's gray cold.

These little guys have, so far, survived the first round of cabbagification of the garden beds. The lovely flowers seem so delicate, a contrast to the robust green hydrangeas planted behind them. As the season wanes, the hydrangeas fade to gold and brown, while the little purple flowers soldier on