You
know how it goes. When you live in a fascinating city, you don’t take the time
to see and appreciate the sights unless someone comes in town. I don’t.
Recently
I had the opportunity to visit The Art Institute of Chicago. It has been far
too long so I took my daughter and one of her girlfriends who had never been to
Chicago before.
Here
are two of my favorite things:
Marc
Chagall’s stained glass:
And the most stunning piece in the place and my personal favorite is an oil on canvas by a French painter named Jules-Adolphe Breton. It is titled The Song of the Lark, 1884. This painting glows in your presence! I could stand before it for hours.
I slowly
drive past this developing “exhibit” every day on my way to the gym. First
noticing it in August, I’m completely fascinated by its ever-changing
dimensions.
Is
it some sort of political statement or simply someone’s crazy expression of
creativity? Both?
I’d
like to believe its art because, hate to admit. I’m not terribly political.
I’ve
never seen anyone maintaining this “sculpture” yet it seemingly has a life of
it’s own. Weeds continue their takeover.
Early
on, the heads were staked individually looking like Ronald Reagan triplets. The
next week, they totem poled signifying Uncle Sam as head honcho.
Surprising
me, a banner appeared on a beautiful fall day at the end of September. Representing someone in love, or purely wanting to get this chick in bed? The blue “feels”
peaceful but how do I interpret that in conjunction with the pole? My over
stimulated curiosity said, “Get in that yard so you can really see.” It’d be
about my luck to get ticketed for trespassing.
Two
weeks ago, one grew hair overnight. And this week, lips were painted BRIGHT
red!!! Don’t they sort of look like Al Gore? Not because of the lips!
And
what does a cement ball have to do with anything?
I
got an “A” in Art Interpretation but I’m having a hellava time with this one.
Then
this occurred to me.
I’m
living in this peaceful, pint-sized bubble pondering “whatevers” while people
are struggling. Everywhere.
I hate
that feeling. Sometimes. Being so far removed.
The
cosmos seems angry. Unsettled.
The
mess on the East Coast is horrific.
I’m
weary of the right/left-slanted emails I constantly receive. Delete. Delete.
Delete.
Friends
are arguing over the candidates at dinner parties unwilling to “hear” each other
or agree-to-disagree. I'm uneasy being around it because I crave harmony.
At
dinner last night as everyone heatedly spoke about how Sandy will affect the
election, my 88-year-old literature loving friend, who read poetry to me beginning at age three (FOG), saw the look on my face and asked, “What
book are you reading?”
I
mouthed, “Thank you.”
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This post was written for Write On Edge using a song to inspire a post. This one was inspired by "Peaceful World" by John Mellencamp. It is not meant to be a political statement at all but completely the opposite.
