May 28, 2010

Lilacs from the bridge: Memorial Day Weekend, 2010

 
"Why doesn't Linda just walk with Lee and Paul in the Memorial Day Parade?" Aunt Doris asked her sister Marge. Thinking it over, my mother finally nodded her head and said, "OK, I guess it would be all right if you think you could walk that far, Linda."  Yes, of course I could, expecially since I would be walking right in the middle of streets where I was never allowed. My teacher had even described how the children in the parade threw flowers over the bridge's railing into the Seneca River in memory of soldiers. I wanted to do that, too.
 
"I'm going to walk in the Memorial Day Parade!" I boasted to Mrs. V,, my kindergarten teacher during recess. "Oh, I should think NOT," she replied, "Only first graders and older are allowed." She pursed her lips and gave me her severest look. I swallowed hard and blinked fast to hold back the tears.
 
Racing off the school bus, I reported to my mother what Mrs. V. had said. "Just walk with Lee and Paul, and it will be OK," she replied. (Why, I wondered, did my normally mild-mannered mother look a bit defiant?) Over the next few days, I tried to reassure myself that if Mrs. V. tried to pull me away from the marchers, my six and eight year old cousins could mutter "Tough toenails!", hold my hand tight, and run.
 
Memorial Day arrived. Early morning clouds disappeared, and my mother cut a bouquet of lilacs for me to carry. A huge cluster of grade school children gathered at the very end of the parade group.  We were behind the veteran's groups, (both world wars), dressed in moth-balled uniforms, firemen riding their shiny trucks, politicians waving in convertibles, Scouts holding flags, a couple of bands booming and tooting, and several  floats decorated with flowers. We stood and stood. Would we ever start marching? My lilacs wilted and my legs already hurt. 
 
Finally, the whole crowd of children was given the signal to move forward. We walked down the hill, under arched treetops, through the Four Corners right under the traffic light, over the canal bridge, and then over the bridge by the dam. "Linda, throw your flowers in NOW!" shouted Lee and Paul. I flung them over the railing, and watched the current carry them swiftly out of sight under the bridge.
 
Soon we were walking right near my school. Surely Mrs. V. was in the crowd along the sidewalk. I tried to make myself disappear between my cousins. I imagined her angry face,  framed by gray hair pulled back and piled high with hairpins, suddenly spying me. I could almost see her brooch glittering in the sun, and her black shoes clacking on the pavement. She would rush into the swarm of children and yank me from my bodyguards. I might even have to go to the police station.
 
Somehow, we reached the parade's end in the cemetery, where hordes of onlookers and paraders mingled and gathered for the solemn ceremonies. There was my mother and aunt!  Now Mrs. V. would have to deal with my mother if she wanted to pursue me. Soon I was in the backseat of my aunt's Mercury, chugging up the long hill out of Baldwinsville, speeding down the hills to our family picnic in the backyard.
 
Every Memorial Day I still feel apprehensive and excited - and comforted by the scent of lilacs. 
 

May 2, 2010

May 2, 2010: Connecting Words with my art

Over the past couple of weeks I had the privilege of listening to 5th and 6th graders from Willis School in Delaware, Ohio, recite poems they had composed after viewing my art. Based on my drawing of a long-demolished schoolhouse (with students names from the old roster imposed on the grasses,) here is an example of one poem:
                                                
                                            Field Calligraphy
                                   By the Chasing Light Writers
 
                               The smoke from the school's chimney
                             Welcomes moving shadows of all sizes
                                        Cutting through a field
                                        Like a box of crayons
                                Fingers have touched many times
                            Their names written in time and space
                                    Within a meadow's grasses
                                    Leaving footprints in the path
                                      As a flag waves goodbye.
 
It was quite an dizzying experience for me to have this remarkable word imagery created from my visual art - and by such young poets! Teacher Pam Beery deserves much applause for guiding their efforts.
 
This project was part of the Residency Activities for Central Ohio Symphony's "Chasing Light" with visiting Pulitzer Prize - winning composer, Joseph Schwantner. Sponsored by "Ford Made in America", his composition "Chasing Light" was inspired by a poem he wrote of day breaking at his New Hampshire mountain home.When I mentioned to Warren Hyer, manager of the symphony, that I sometimes write poetry as inspiration for my art, he invited me to provide my artwork as the subject of the students' poems.
 
To read more of their poems inspired by "Waiting for Gas", "Lost Arches", and "Morning Run on South Old State", "Signs of August", and "Spring Fields", see "Events" at
                               www.chasinglightindelaware.org