Urban Art Garden

I’ve figured out why the city of Chattanooga had to invest in the MTE (see previous blog post). Drum Roll, please. It’s to fund all the Urban Art. The other day as I drove to the Brainerd Tunnel, I noticed that the city had turned the ugly weed patch next to the tunnels into a garden. I like gardens—shrubs, flowers, benches, etc. But, then they installed art. They put up a sign saying “Urban Art.” It seems to me that if you have to notify people that something is “art” there’s a problem. Guess what? This Urban Art is ugly. And not ugly like dystopian, darkness of the soul kind of ugly—I get that. Nope. This is cheap, rainbow-y, flying dove, kitschy hideous.

Since the downtown has some beautiful art, I’m wondering if the Brainerd Tunnel Urban Art Garden got the rejects. Here’s what I think happened. Bob the City Councilman, after a few too many beers at the local micro-brewery, approved the city’s purchase of art. After all, Chattanooga is now a destination get-away according to Southern Living magazine. Bob decided that all we need is some art to make it hip so that we can attract rich tourists. Anyway, one day the art arrives. Beautiful bronzes. Yep, says Bob, these are great for downtown. A few odd sculptures. Well, thinks Bob, we’ll put those on Main Street towards Southside. Then, Bob saw the lame stuff. Bob got a little nervous. This is not the stuff you want tourists to see. But he had to do something with it. A lightbulb exploded in Bob’s brain—an urban art garden in Brainerd near the tunnels. No one will see it because they’re all too busy trying to avoid the MTE. Yep, great plan. Except, well, it’s still ugly. I have one question for you, Bob. Can’t we return it?

NEH Class

I am an art history teacher, at least I was this week. In case you don’t remember, back on April 1 I blogged that I’d gotten a very cool grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities to teach American Art History. This was the week I taught my class.

Being that I’m a writer by trade and a fiction writer by avocation, I took a storyteller’s approach. Each painting/sculpture/photo/architectural landmark has a story. Part of it is the artist, part of it is how art works, and part of it what the artwork says. Of course, I’m going to mix my metaphors, but…a work of art is a kind of riddle, in our study we find the answer, and that’s where all the fun resides.

The Artists
Some moved our souls with their understanding of transcendence. Some showed us things in a new way. And some made us laugh at human frailty—they said one thing with their mouth and did the complete opposite in their work.

How the Art Works
We learned that “when confronted with a bit of art”* and questioned about it by a teacher, who constantly gives the wrong dates for when the works were completed because she reverses numbers, there are five safe answers: triangular/pyramidal, visual rhyme, halo, and Paris. (Actually, I argued that “halo” was not a great answer and that “contrast” was a better answer, but they didn’t buy it. And Paris has more to do with the artist or his school, but it was one of their favorite answers.) And, lest you think we had too much fun, we spent a lot of time looking beyond the surface aesthetics, to understand why it pleased our eyes.

What the Artwork Says
Some said “The Glory belongs to the Lord,” others said “The Glory belongs to me,” and there were a few that said “Dude, you did way too much partying last night because you can’t be serious.”

In conclusion, I want to thank my students who ranged in age from 9 to 70+ for their attention and eagerness. And thanks to the parents who told me, “I can’t believe my teenagers love art history—who’d have thunk it.” You all made the hours of preparation worth it!! And thanks to the NEH without whose support this would never have happened.

*Thanks to PG Woodhouse who gave me this phrase and taught me/us that the thing to say “when confronted with a bit of art” is “it has a nice patina.” Hey, “patina” should have been one of our five answers!

Here’s a picture of me with a reproduction of a painting by Thomas Hart Benton titled, The Sources of Country Music.

Cubism

Lest you think this post has anything to do with Picasso, let me disabuse you of that notion right away. This post has nothing to do with Picasso—well, actually it does, but in a random sort of way. In case you don’t know what Cubism is…it’s kind of complicated, but it’s a way of showing many perspectives in one painting. For example, showing all the sides of someone’s nose when in reality you’d only see one side of the nose. (I have to admit, one side is good enough for me.)

At any rate, I’m currently working on a new book, and I reached a place where I knew where the plot needed to go, but I wasn’t sure how to get there. It’s like knowing that Montana is north and west of here, but without the interstate numbers and directions it’s a bit of a chore to get there. In fact, you might never get there. Or, it may take years. And let’s face it, I’m getting older.

I needed a solution. A Picasso-esque solution. Frequently, the way to solve a problem, ignoring for the moment a long soak in the bathtub with candles lit, is to look at the situation from a different perspective. Enter Picasso—you see, those art history classes in college do help later on in life. (My kids think I took them just to torture them in the museums we drag them to every time we travel). Back to Picasso.

No. I did not paint a picture of my book. I don’t pick up a paintbrush—I leave that to Calvin who does an amazing job. (Though he does think I can draw beautifully.) At any rate, I needed to look at my novel from a different perspective. Step-sheets. They are sheets of paper (big surprise there) with everything of importance to the plot. They include things the readers know and the things they do not. I put all the plot points on the paper in landscape orientation so that I can see all the threads of the story fabric intertwining. Guess what? Yep. I saw some of what I wanted/needed to do.

Here’s a picture of me with some of my step-sheets. Yes, they are on yellow paper—it makes it more fun. I think Pablo would approve.