Picture of the Week

Among the Clouds

2010-04-25T08:00:00.000-04:00

My first Weekly Photo posting was of the Air Force Memorial, and here we are at the start of my third year. I'll continue to start each year off with a look at this memorial, which represents flight. This view is as much about the clouds and blue sky as it is about the metallic swoops. Sometimes their silvery surface almost reflect the sky. As I stood at the base and looked up, the sky and the arcs seemed to be part of one whole, each dependent on the other. How appropriate.

Violet Bower

2010-04-18T08:00:00.000-04:00

Under the arching branches of an old white lilac, wild violets have made themselves a cozy home. Many people see these sturdy little flowers as weeds, but I am happy to see them wherever they choose to turn up. They seem to like their little bower, which is carpeted with bright green moss in the shadier parts. The flowers spring from rosettes of heart-shaped leaves, standing confidently on impossibly slim stems. Their little faces turned slightly to the right or the left as if to converse with the crowd of neighboring violets. I remember an even larger population of violets. They inhabited a grassy plot next to my grade school. In April, it would turn purple with blossoms. At lunchtime, while my classmates played kickball, I would wander through this purple sea, gathering handfuls, almost more than I could hold, taking them back to the teachers. For the rest of the afternoon, some of the wilting violets would lay on my desk, a reminder of the spring miracle that was right outside.

Cherry Blossoms and High Tides

2010-04-11T08:00:00.000-04:00

The cherry blossoms are at their peak, so pale that they barely earn the right to be called pink. They fancy up the grounds of all the stark white marble monuments and edge the Tidal Basin, bending over gracefully, as if to admire their own reflections. I wandered under the canopy of blossoms and came to a spot where the water had just begun a small trickle of overflow onto the walkway. At the lowest point, the walkway disappeared beneath several inches of water. Not only was it high tide, but the moon was full. Benches became islands and tourists took off their flip flops to wade along the submerged path. Heading back to where the path was only partly flooded, I watched this little boy. Who cares about fluffy flowers or scenic views when there is water for splashing?

Chocolate Molds

2010-04-04T08:00:00.000-04:00

Enter the Wilbur Chocolate Factory in Lititz, PA and you will be enveloped in the divine smell of chocolate. The shelves hold dark chocolate buds, chocolate-dipped apricots and caramels enrobed in chocolate. I like to visit the charming museum in the back. Machinery clanks rhythmically, showing the process of chocolate making. My favorite parts are the glass cases full of vintage chocolate paraphernalia; beautifully designed boxes, tins, trade cards, and ceramic chocolate pots. Metal molds celebrate every holiday. Early on, Easter became entangled with the ancient springtime celebration of the goddess Oester. Rabbits and chicks represent fertility. Eggs are symbols of rebirth and everlasting life. It's something to think about while you bite the ears off that chocolate bunny.

Arts and Industries

2010-03-28T08:00:00.000-04:00

The Smithsonian Arts and Industries building, my favorite structure along the Washington D.C. Mall, has been closed for some time, undergoing repairs. But on a nice day, I love to sit on a wrought iron bench and look at it. Opened in 1881, it is oh so Victorian in style. Circular medallions perch between the rows of arched windows. Enameled bands of ochre, blue and black set off the dark red bricks. The Victorians were not minimalists. Embellishment and the whole range of decorative arts were an essential part of Victorian architecture. To me, this building represents the bold, almost brash optimism of its age. In a city of tasteful glass, concrete and white marble, it's a reminder that color and richly detailed surfaces had their place at one time. I'm glad that some of them still stand, dressing up the landscape.

Witch Hazel

2010-03-21T08:00:00.000-04:00

Bright blue skies have come our way. Soon the cherry blossoms will open, but earlier signs of spring have emerged. I stood under the pale, smooth limbs of a witch hazel shrub and looked straight up. If ever there was a plant begging to be transformed into stitchery, this is it. Fringed blossoms studded the branches. Surrounded by yellow, with that blue sky overhead, I contemplated the possibilities. How about short bits of embroidery floss, tacked down in the center, all fluffy and three-dimensional? No, that struck me as too literal. Instead, my mind wandered off into a celebration of yellowness and blueness knit together with delicate, dark lines.

Green Pots

2010-03-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

That oddly American holiday known as St. Patrick's Day is approaching and green will be the It Color for at least one day. Green beer, green milkshakes, rivers and hair dyed green. Offices become a sea of emerald dresses and olive sweaters. My own weakness for green is of the ceramic variety. Tall or squat, rounded or angular, there is rarely a green pot or vase that I don't find ravishing. In the 1890's, the cucumber-skin glaze created by the Grueby Faience Company ignited a craze for green pots. Every company developed their own version. Some are satiny and some are matte finish. Others are pitted and thick, like lava that has burbled up from a volcanic eruption. I've held, petted and admired the real thing in antique shops. My corner cupboard is crowded with new and old pots, but nothing that would reside in a museum. Celadon, emerald, spruce, leaf, I celebrate everything green.

Brownstone

2010-03-06T08:00:00.000-05:00

The streets of Manhattan's Upper West Side are lined with brownstones, gracious homes whose steps and masonry stoop railings usually have slightly curved edges. More than once I've watched skilled workmen repair and restore them, carefully smoothing sharp corners into rounder, friendlier shapes. Using my camera's built-in Illustration setting, the subtle colors and strong shadows became a close-to-abstract interplay of horizontal and vertical lines. I tend to be more attracted to curves than to straight lines, but this image just makes me happy---a remembrance of a walk on a sunny afternoon.

Outdoor Seating Available

2010-02-28T08:00:00.001-05:00

Although we've had some days above freezing, the snow lingers. Lingers? Every shopping mall has large piles that have morphed into snow mesas claiming squatter's rights to seven or eight parking spots apiece. Long, dirty Jersey snow-barriers squeeze traffic into one and a half lanes. Incongruously detached walls of snow rise here and there, two or three feet wide and five feet high, between the road and a dug-out car. Each looks like the one remaining wall of a fallen-down house. The sight of these tables and chairs outside a restaurant made me chuckle. Hot chocolate, anyone?

The Edge of the Rink

2010-02-21T08:00:00.000-05:00

The Olympics are here. All work stops when the ice skaters are performing. Television gives us the miracle of seeing events happening a continent away, with super-slow-motion replays of triple axels and close-ups of the sequins on the ice dancers' costumes. But some things must be experienced in person. The cold rising from the ice, the sense of speed and movement from one end of the rink to the other, the shared excitement building into shared jubilation when a skater compels the entire audience to jump to its feet for a standing ovation. After the awards ceremony, the skaters take a victory lap and fans try to get one more photo. Here they are, in Cleveland, zooming in on Evan Lysacek and Brandon Mroz for one last shot.

What the Blizzard Left

2010-02-14T08:00:00.000-05:00

Snowzilla, Snowmaggedon, Snowgantica. Two big snowstorms in one week have left us contemplating names. The first snowstorm lasted for two nights and a day. It softened outlines and made everything seem magical and romantic until we started to shovel it. The second storm was scary, with trees creaking and groaning from gusts blowing the snow horizontally. Oddly-shaped drifts collected against houses and fences, looking like sand dunes escaped from some far desert. In the morning, this is what greeted us, curved by the force of the winds as they grew overnight: Carrotsicles!

Frosty Windshield

2010-02-07T08:00:00.000-05:00

The other morning, circular frost crystals speckled the side windows of the car. Frost ferns covered the front windshield. I sat in the passenger seat for a minute and enjoyed the view. Mundane buildings surrounding an ugly parking lot had been transformed into a shimmering composition. I wasn't sure if this photo would look like much of anything, but I took it anyway. It reminds me of looking closely at a small section of one of Monet's canvasses, of being too close to see the objects and instead enjoying the colors, shapes and brush marks. It's full of texture and ambiguity. I thought about how Monet painted his gigantic water lilies after he had started losing his sight. There are time when we may not see things clearly, but we can still have a beautiful view.

Make Your Own Rainbow

2010-01-31T08:00:00.000-05:00

Last week, my table was covered with yarns, metallic braids and my hand-dyed ribbons. I laid out the colors then cut, gathered together, twisted, and knotted the bundles. Pinks, reds, browns, greens, purples. Fuzzy, smooth, shiny, nubby, crinkly, all running through my hands. The soft pile grew. Making these fiber bundles is a favorite task. It exemplifies all the reasons why I work in fiber. I love the colors and textures. Handling them and drinking in their beautiful colors satisfies some need as basic as eating or sleeping. As I worked, I imagined what my students might end up doing with them some day. Within the pile, I had this rainbow. What a joy.

Old Iron Bench

2010-01-24T08:00:00.001-05:00

In the shelter of a 19th-century home, I found one of those absolutely perfect tableaux. This sometimes mystifies my husband, who is not really attracted to rusting iron benches set against walls clinging to their last vestiges of faded paint. Why do I like this so much? The bench mimics delicate lace but the rust declares its weighty iron bones. It took years for those shades of peach and orange to creep and speckle and blend across that bench. The wall behind it is a subtle half-and-half mix of blue and gray, almost the same values. I can't tell you why I am so strongly drawn to this, but I could find inspiration in it, over and over, for a long time.

Savannah Waterfront

2010-01-19T11:28:00.002-05:00

In Savannah there are many grand and beautiful old homes. I prefer the buildings that have been more haphazardly maintained. Their facades are more likely to divulge a few hints about the adventures and mishaps that may have taken place over the years. In America, I associate this special brand of decrepitude with New Orleans, Charleston and Savannah. Near-tropical humidity and the relentless threat of hurricanes imbues them with character and romance. This is one of the old cotton warehouses that sits on the edge of the Savannah River. The ground floor shops and restaurants offer ice cream, cool drinks and souvenirs. Look closely at the upper floors and you might catch a whisper of the stories still held within.

Georgia Pig

2010-01-10T08:00:00.001-05:00

South of Brunswick, Georgia, there is a great place to get barbecue. The Georgia Pig looks as if way more time has been spent smoking pork and perfecting the potato salad than fussing with the decor. I like that in a barbecue joint. These days, it's easy to miss the Georgia Pig. Gas stations and fast food outlets with bright, blinking plastic signs line the road. How can a row of hand painted wooden cut-outs of pigs compete? The pigs owe more to memories of Porky than to some advertising agency's ideas about a suitable logo or "brand image." This is hickory-infused folk art, fading in the sun. By the way, if you stop at the Georgia Pig, don’t ask for fries.

Skimmers and Gull

2010-01-03T08:00:00.000-05:00

Although we are there every few years, being in Florida at Christmas time always seems a bit strange. Blow-up snowmen sharing green lawns with palm trees are just...wrong somehow. It sure is nice to walk along the beach collecting small shells and watching the birds. These black skimmers stood patiently, enjoying the sunshine and waves, allowing me to creep up close. They remind me of old men wearing toupees, with the toupees being the color their hair has not been for many years.

Angels and Snowflakes

2009-12-27T08:00:00.001-05:00

In December, giant snowflakes cover the facade of Sak's Fifth Avenue, which is directly across from Rockefeller Center. Every fifteen minutes or so, the snowflakes come to life, blinking on and off in time to music, performing a syncopated dance. For a few minutes, the snowflakes lure the crowd's attention away from the skating rink with its gigantic sparkling tree. I like to park myself halfway in between, in the midst of the rows of trumpeting angels, looking back at the dancing snowflakes. Even the longtime residents of New York stop for a minute, turning their faces up into the frosty night air, knowing that all this holiday magic will disappear on January 2.

Technicolor Angel

2009-12-20T08:00:00.001-05:00

Architectural details are one of my weaknesses. Patterned brickwork, leaded glass windows and interesting door handles will stop me every time. I'm especially fond of the inhabitants of older buildings: fat cherubs, old men, young nymphs, satyrs and "green men" sprouting leaves instead of hair and beards. This lady hovers over a street in Paris. I think the flourishes on each side of her look like wings. In real life she is a normal stone color. One afternoon while playing around with the "Adjust Tint or Hue" settings, I forgot to start with the original and instead worked over an already-tinted image. This fantastic Christmas-colored angel appeared. Merry Christmas to all.

Letter To Santa

2009-12-12T16:29:00.002-05:00

This year the holiday windows at Macy's tell a story of how children's letters get to Santa Claus. They are charming and imaginative. But one smaller window disturbed me a bit. I watched a grandmother help her granddaughters use a touch screen to send a "virtual letter" to Santa. I hope that children will continue to have the experience of writing on paper with an actual pencil or pen, making crisp creases in the paper so it fits the envelope, then carefully addressing the envelope. By the way, what is the zip code for the North Pole? There is something about tasting the glue as you lick and seal the envelope, and choosing the stamp (can't lick those any more...) It's harder now to find an actual mailbox, where the metal lid makes a satisfying clang after the letter drops in. Will children wonder whether Santa got their email the same way we wondered if the letter got to the North Pole? I really am not a Luddite, but we live so much of our lives in a virtual world. I hope that such a tactile memory can still be a part of a child's life.

Bergdorf's Polar Bear

2009-12-06T20:18:00.003-05:00

If I could visit Manhattan only once in my life, I would come in December. Walking through midtown at dusk, the gray big-city grittiness of daytime fades away, replaced by a neon-lit sense of glamor. The holidays amplify this fantasy. My favorite store windows are always those of Bergdorf Goodman. Each one is a perfect, intelligently-dreamed-up conceit, a balance of beauty, elegance, wit and humor. This year, one window's arctic landscape shows two regal polar bears and a woman who has chosen fashion over warmth. The bears' heads are made from beads and sequins. Their fur is....white rayon fringe! Yards and yards and yards of it. Genius!

Iwo Jima Memorial

2009-11-29T09:09:00.002-05:00

The Iwo Jima Memorial is an iconic American image. In actuality, it's a copy of a copy. The bronze and stone memorial is a three-dimensional interpretation of the photograph that was "re-enacted" to replicate the Marines raising the flag on the island of Iwo Jima during World War II. The photograph quickly became a symbol of heroism under fire. Late one afternoon, I walked around the memorial. Was it possible to find a new way to look at this icon? This view, backlit by the setting sun, is my favorite. From this angle, I keep going back to look at the outstretched fingers of the Marines as they struggle together to raise the flag. With a slight breeze blowing, the flag was as brilliant as stained glass. What better image can I find for Thanksgiving weekend? It is a reminder of the many freedoms for which we are so grateful.

Rusty Fence

2009-11-22T08:00:00.000-05:00

This old metal fence sitting atop a low stone-capped brick wall illustrates of the power of diagonal lines. They move across the picture plane from one end to the other, in counterpoint to the verticals of the fence posts. But it's the color that really made me stop and look. On a drizzly dull day, the row of nearly florescent orange drips came as a real shock. In some ways, this image is a meditation on the nature of rust, starting with the fence itself and the contrast between the last vestiges of cool gray paint clinging to the rough rusty posts. How much time did it take for those lovely drips to form and spread out into such brilliant orange ovals?

Blue Fence and YellowTree

2009-11-15T08:00:00.001-05:00

Our neighborhood is neither fashionable nor quaint. When the roses drape themselves across almost every other fence or the cherry blossoms fall like snow, it is easy to see beauty everywhere. Other times, I search hungrily for a little bit of beauty among the humdrum and mundane. The sun came out as I was walking from the post office. Suddenly, the blue metal fence that had originally struck me only as needing repainting, seemed the perfect complement to the row of adolescent trees glowing gold in the light. Bold shadows! Backlit weeds! A path of beauty lay before me as I walked home, thankful.

View Through the Dubuffet

2009-11-08T08:00:00.000-05:00

Across from the convention center in downtown Houston, what used to be a parking lot is now a green space with a playground, a small lake and many artworks. Jean Dubuffet's "Monument Au Fantone." originally stood in front of a high-rise office tower in another part of downtown. Somehow, it has found its way to this new location, in which it seems to be more appreciated. Small children play hide and seek inside it. Teenagers climb up to sit in the crook of its colorful fiberglass legs This makes me cringe, but at least the sculpture has become a true part of its new neighborhood. In the late afternoon, I crossed the street to explore the sculpture, marveling at how well its shapes and colors relate to those of the convention center. Perhaps they really were meant all along to live near each other.