Cleverly titled "Still Life with Game, Fowl, and Vegetables." The era when artists could feel free to pain a bunch of realistic-looking dead animals has passed from the art world, and I say we are the poorer for it. Then again, can you imagine if some 8th-grader painted that picture today? We'd call her a plagiarist, is what.
Here is a somewhat-blurry shot of the galleries as we walked through them:
This is a blown-glass sculpture, not far away from that mirrored glass sculpture I liked. I think artists that work in glass are far, far more talented than other sculptors.
This is a piece I think of as the "Giant Jack."
I'm not sure what it's really called.
But it's VERY reflective:
More of the galleries. In the first one of these photos, Sweetie had just walked around the corner, but in keeping with policy, I took a second shot that omits her.
Here's a big scary face.
(Probably not its official title.)
This piece is called "Bird." It's from 1939, which is not a time I think of when I imagine modern-looking sculptures.
When I was a kid, I read tons and tons of comic books and science fiction and fantasy books -- probably almost literally, if you weighed them -- and drew picture after picture of people battling dragons and Vipers vs. Cylons and explosions and space shuttles and the like. (I even once invented my own cartoon people, Snarks and Boojums. The names I stole from Lewis Carroll).
My mom always figured that stuff would hold me back and wanted me to focus on more serious reading, lest I turn out to not be the first Doctor President Lawyer ever.
Now, I know that I could have stuck with that and had my work hanging in an art museum:
What looks like a series of spaceship drawings is actually ART! by Lee Bontecou, from 1966. Surprise number TWO for me was that Lee Bontecou is a woman, which, okay, maybe I'm sexist but when I think of someone drawing spaceships for a living, I don't automatically think woman, and frankly, I blame society for that. \
Primarily a sculptor until she got married, Lee Bontecou began drawing and sketching once she settled down into family life.
Nowadays, Mr Bunches doesn't draw much, but he does make things out of blocks. Yesterday, alone, he and I collaborated on a pirate ship, two laser-shooting spiders, and Mr. Fredrickson's house from Up!.
And we carved pumpkins. It doesn't matter how you are exercising your mind. It matters that you are.
I'm out of time for today: Sweetie needs help getting the boys ready for school. I'm heading up there. More on this when I remember.
If you've got the time, check out Moon Mow Me Cheerios, my zombie-ish story that author Andrew Leon called "really good, but so so sad." Here's an excerpt:
He comes as often as he thinks he can: a powerful feeling inside him makes him want to come here, to peer out of the bushes and creep up to the house and touch the aluminum siding and look at the patio table where the rust is painted over by…
…and to look in the windows, sure, and to hold his hand by the doorknob, wanting to test it, wanting to see if it would open, if he could pull the door open and go inside and walk upstairs on the carpet, turn the corner and see the bedroom with the Star Wars comforter…
…and to be warm, and cozy, and have a nightlight, instead of the moon, and a bookshelf instead of a tree branch and books instead of pinecones and the cat instead of sometimes a fox or porcupine stumbling across him…