Astral Flower

Astral Flower, by Jose Luis Sanchez, Dallas, Texas

Astral Flower, by Jose Luis Sanchez, Dallas, Texas

Astral Flower, by Jose Luis Sanchez

Astral Flower, by Jose Luis Sanchez

There is something special about downtown parks. The tiny bits of public green carved out of the pavement become precious jewels cast about the vast three dimensional expanse of office buildings. The few trees struggling for their share of light and water become alien creatures of wonder – flecks of forest, transplanted.

When I first moved to Dallas in the early 1980’s and was working down in the Kirby Building there was Thanksgiving Square – a carefully created triangle of grass and water in the heart of the business district. One of my favorite things was to eat lunch in the square on a sunny spring day… there was a greasy take out Chinese place in the underground – Mr. Kim’s Eggroll. This was a branch of the better known, almost infamous, Texaco Lunch Box out on Ross avenue. I won’t say the food was good… but it has good memories.

From a 1984 Newspaper Article, in The Victoria Advocate, “In Praise of the Immigrant,” by William Murchison.

My own favorite immigrant is Mr. Kim, a South Korean. He came to Dallas in the late 70’s, legally, I should point out, worked hard at a convenience store, saved most of what he earned and established an eggroll joint across the street from the courthouse. In those days I patronized him with some frequency.

But Mr. Kim wasn’t sure he couldn’t do better elsewhere. A short time later he opened the inimitable Texaco Lunch Box on Ross Avenue. The Lunch Box sells gasoline and marvelous egg rolls, whichever or both. From the start it prospered, owing partly to Mr. Kim’s ebullient, somewhat wacky, personality, partly to a quality product. Mr Kim always had a cheery smile and a few quips for his customers. To my children he commonly would hand out an extra fortune cookie, sometimes even a can of Coke.

One place wasn’t enough, so Mr Kim opened more, staffing them all, as far as I am aware, with fellow Korean immigrants. A devout Presbyterian who plasters Christian slogans on his wall, Mr. Kim also set up bible study classes for Koreans. Many were the times I’d go by the Lunch Box and ask for him, only to be told, “He’s teaching bible class.”

One of Mr. Kim’s outlets is downtown, more or less underneath Thanksgiving Square. That is where I now catch him when he isn’t teaching the bible or helping some Korean family.

I was glad to find that article – I hadn’t thought about Kim’s Eggroll for a long time and was glad to find out my memories (I remember the eccentric man and the religious tracts taped to the wall… as well as the taste of the greasy rolls and sweet sauce) were real and not some remnant of a fever dream.

Kim’s Eggroll and the Texaco Lunch Box are long gone. In addition to some legal adventures, Mr. Kim seems to have been involved in the local restaurants Wok & Roll, which I have eaten at too.

In the decades since, Thanksgiving Square is getting long in the tooth, but the city has carved out some more parks – more ambitious and more contemporary. There is the big trinity of Main Street Garden Park, Belo Garden Park, and of course, the crown jewel, Klyde Warren. There are also a handful of smaller place, some of them really nice, like Lubben Plaza… (I’m going to have to go downtown and shoot some pocket parks… aren’t I).

And there are more in the works.

One of the biggest proposed projects is Pacific Plaza Park. This would join together a number of small parks and desolate parking lots into one of the largest remaining open areas in the City’s Center. It’s been delayed and delayed and I hope they get going and get the thing built while I’m still alive.

One concern, though. Right in the middle of the proposed park, is an old, forgotten park that used to have a fountain with an old, forgotten sculpture. If you live in Dallas, you’ve driven by it a million times, and even though it’s pretty darn big you’ve never seen it. I, however, ride a bicycle, and I notice things like this.

It’s called Astral Flower, by Jose Luis Sanchez. It was placed in the Pacific Plaza “Vest Pocket Park” in 1968 by Junior League Garden Club. The tiny park was developed by the Greater Dallas Board of Realtors along with the City Parks & Recreational Department.

I hope they preserve this little bit of history. In Dallas, history is as scarce as green space downtown.

Astral Flower, by Jose Luis Sanchez (click to enlarge)

Astral Flower, by Jose Luis Sanchez
(click to enlarge)

A Place to Gather

I have begun to look everywhere for sculpture and am finding it in unpredictable places. As always, I have a soft spot for artwork that is neglected/forgotten/ignored/abandoned – it becomes an unexpected pleasure. A needed reminder of the fact that art is all around us. We only need to open our eyes.

Near where I work is a campus, Richland College, that I was checking out for outdoor artworks – especially sculpture. I’m familiar with that campus – have been going there for various reasons for decades… and thought I knew everything about its grounds.

But I found a reference to an outdoor sculpture that I knew nothing about. It was called “A Place to Gather” and was done by Linnea Glatt – the sculptor that did “Harrow” in Lubben Plaza downtown (one of my favorites). She also did “A Place to Perform” at the White Rock Bathhouse Cultural Center. I have always enjoyed stopping there on my bike trips around the lake.

What she built at Richland was a small outdoor installation that consisted of a space bounded by two walls, containing a couple of wooden benches. Truly a place to gather.

A photo from The Dallas Art Revue of A Place to Gather when it was first installed.

A photo from The Dallas Art Revue of A Place to Gather when it was first installed.

I had never noticed it. I had a few moments, so I went over there to look for it. I was astounded to find it, overgrown and ignored, between a couple of low earthen ridges in the fields to the east of campus.

There are soccer fields built all around that spot – and I have watched… easily a hundred kid’s soccer games there. Who knows how many times I have walked right by the sculpture, usually hauling a folding chair and a cooler full of drinks for the kids, without ever noticing that it was there. I even remember clearly walking over those little hills in the heat.

The most developed soccer field is right over the little rise to the south – I remember when Nick broke his arm in a game there.

A Place to Gather

A Place to Gather – by Linnea Glatt, with soccer fields nearby

A Place to Gather - by Linnea Glatt. The little benches are still there - it's a peaceful spot.

A Place to Gather – by Linnea Glatt. The little benches are still there – it’s a peaceful spot.

A Place to Gather - by Linnea Glatt. The weeds are taking over.

A Place to Gather – by Linnea Glatt. The weeds are taking over.

A Place to Gather - by Linnea Glatt

A Place to Gather – by Linnea Glatt

I enjoyed checking it out. It’s more than a little overgrown now – with some graffiti sprayed on the concrete and some trash starting to accumulate. I’m sure one of the purposes of the work is to let it settle into the landscape but I wish it could get cleaned up a little.

I’d like to go sit there sometime… sit and write, maybe talk to someone. After all, it is a place to gather.

Nevermore

As I have been looking around the area at local sculptures I have been running into multiple works by local sculptors. I have already put up entries on two works by Joe BarringtonRoadrunner with Lizard and The Headlines Screamed, Baithouse Disappears. I’ve found two more – one can wait – but tonight I give you 4 Ravens, Nevermore!

Joe Barrington
Throckmorton
4 Ravens, Nevermore!
2000, metal, paint

Frisco, Texas

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4 Ravens, Nevermore!
Joe Barrington

4 Ravens, Nevermore!

4 Ravens, Nevermore!

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4 Ravens, Nevermore!
Joe Barrington

ravens4

4 Ravens, Nevermore!
Joe Barrington

4 Ravens, Nevermore!

4 Ravens, Nevermore!

The Raven, read by Christopher Walken

 

Tar Roses

Make things that carry with them the residue of where they have been.
—-Dennis Oppenheim

Dennis Oppenheim 1938-2011
American (New York)
Tar Roses
1996

Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

Tar Roses, Dennis Oppenheim, Frisco, Texas

H.O.P. Rabbits

David Iles, Bolivar
H.O.P. Rabbits
2000 Bronze
Frisco, Texas

A couple months ago, on a bicycle ride up to Denton, I found a cool sculpture – a bronze tornado – called November Devil, by David Iles. As I look from sculptures across the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex (and beyond) I find different works by the same person. In the sculpture garden in Frisco, I found some little bronze rabbits that Iles had done – not as spectacular as a bronze tornado, but nice nonetheless.

H.O.P. Rabbits, by David Iles

H.O.P. Rabbits, by David Iles

H.O.P. Rabbits, by David Iles

H.O.P. Rabbits, by David Iles

—-The sculpture from Denton:

November Devil, David Iles, Denton, Texas

November Devil, David Iles, Denton, Texas

Coming out of the Circle

Sherry Owens, Dallas
Coming out of the Circle 1999 Steel
Frisco, Texas

Everything the Power of the World does is done in a circle. The sky is round, and I have heard that the earth is round like a ball, and so are all the stars. The wind, in its greatest power whirls. Birds make their nest in circles, for theirs is the same religion as ours. The sun comes forth and goes down again in a circle. The moon does the same and both are round. Even the seasons form a great circle in their changing, and always come back again to where they were. The life of a man is a circle from childhood to childhood, and so it is in everything where power moves. Our tepees were round like the nests of birds, and these were always set in a circle, the nation’s hoop.

—-Black Elk Speaks

circle1

Then I was standing on the highest mountain of them all , and round about beneath me was the whole hoop of the world. And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy.

—-Black Elk Speaks

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I did not know then how much was ended. When I look back now from this high hill of my old age, I can still see the butchered women and children lying heaped and scattered all along the crooked gulch as plain as when I saw them with eyes still young. And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud, and was buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died there. It was a beautiful dream.

And I, to whom so great a vision was given in my youth, — you see me now a pitiful old man who has done nothing, for the nation’s hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.

—- Black Elk Speaks

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To the center of the world you have taken me and showed the goodness and the beauty and the strangeness of the greening earth, the only mother — and there the spirit shapes of things, as they should be, you have shown to me and I have seen. At the center of this sacred hoop, you have said that I should make the tree to bloom.

With tears running, O Great Spirit , Great Spirit, my Grandfather — with running tears I must say now that the tree has never bloomed. A pitiful old man, you see me here, and I have fallen away and have done nothing. Here at the center of the world, where you took me when I was young and taught me; here, old, I stand, and the tree is withered, Grandfather, my Grandfather!

Again, and maybe the last time on this earth, I recall the great vision you sent me. It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives. Nourish it then, that it may leaf and bloom and fill with singing birds. Hear me, not for myself, but for my people; I am old. Hear me that they may once more go back into the sacred hoop and find the good red road, the shielding tree!

—-Black Elk Speaks

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

T Paul Hernandez, Austin
Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley
1999 Concrete, Steel, Paint

Frisco, Texas

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

Reincarnation of Farmer Bradley

The Headlines Screamed, Baithouse Disappears

Joe Barrington, American (Texas), The Headlines Screamed, Baithouse Disappears, 2000
Frisco, Texas

If you are curious, it’s Right Here.

Here is Another one by Joe Barrington

“How do men act on a sinking ship? Do they hold each other? Do they pass around the whisky? Do they cry?”
― Sebastian Junger, The Perfect Storm: A True Story of Men Against the Sea

The Headlines Screamed, Baithouse Disappears

The Headlines Screamed, Baithouse Disappears

“He remembered the time he had hooked one of a pair of marlin. The male fish always let the female fish feed first and the hooked fish, the female, made a wild, panic-stricken, despairing fight that soon exhausted her, and all the time the male had stayed with her, crossing the line and circling with her on the surface. He had stayed so close that the old man was afraid he would cut the line with his tail which was sharp as a scythe and almost of that size and shape. When the old man had gaffed her and clubbed her, holding the rapier bill with its sandpaper edge and clubbing her across the top of her head until her colour turned to a colour almost like the backing of mirrors, and then, with the boy’s aid, hoisted her aboard, the male fish had stayed by the side of the boat. Then, while the old man was clearing the lines and preparing the harpoon, the male fish jumped high into the air beside the boat to see where the female was and then went down deep, his lavender wings, that were his pectoral fins, spread wide and all his wide lavender stripes showing. He was beautiful, the old man remembered, and he had stayed.”
― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

baithouse2

“…as the wind howled on, and the sea leaped, and the ship groaned and dived, and yet steadfastedly shot her red hell further and further into the blackness of the sea and the night, and scornfully champed the white bone in her mouth, and viciously spat round her on all sides; then the rushing Pequod, freighted with savages, and laden with fire, and burning a corpse, and plunging into that blackness of darkness seemed the material counterpart of her monomaniac commander’s soul.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

baithouse3

“You see? I know where every single book used to be in the library.’ She pointed to the shelf opposite. ‘Over there was Catch-22, which was a hugely popular fishing book and one of a series, I believe.”
― Jasper Fforde, Shades of Grey

baithouse4

“I must be in love with this woman, Sumire realized with a start. No
mistake about it. Ice is cold; roses are red; I’m in love. And this
love is about to carry me off somewhere. This current’s too
overpowering; I don’t have any choice. It may very well be a special
place, some place I’ve never seen before. Danger may be lurking
there, something that may end up wounding me deeply, fatally. I might
end up losing everything. But there’s no turning back. I can only go
with the flow. Even if it means I’ll be burned up, gone forever.”
― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

baithouse5

“There’s nothing in the sea this fish would fear. Other fish run from bigger things. That’s their instinct. But this fish doesn’t run from anything. He doesn’t fear.”
― Peter Benchley, Jaws

Roadrunner with Lizard

Joe Barrington, Texas, 2000, Roadrunner with Lizard. Frisco, Texas

Dear Warner Brothers,
I am old enough to know what the Beep-Beep is covering up when the Roadrunner gets away from the Coyote.

Roadrunner with Lizard, Joe Barrington, Frisco, Texas

Roadrunner with Lizard, Joe Barrington, Frisco, Texas

Roadrunner with Lizard, Joe Barrington, Frisco, Texas

Roadrunner with Lizard, Joe Barrington, Frisco, Texas

Roadrunner with Lizard, Joe Barrington, Frisco, Texas

Roadrunner with Lizard, Joe Barrington, Frisco, Texas

Oblique Sweep

Pray always for all the learned, the oblique, the delicate. Let them not be quite forgotten at the throne of God when the simple come into their kingdom.
—-Evelyn Waugh

John Brough Miller, Oblique Sweep, Frisco, Texas

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