On Saturday, Clif and I went to Waterville, to Colby College’s fabulous Museum of Art.

We wanted to see two specific exhibits: Herman Bas: The Paper Crown Prince and Other Works, and City of Ambition: Photography from the Collection.

We did see The Paper Crown Prince, a small exhibit that included a few dreamy, exquisite paintings that symbolically explore the coming of age of teenage boys.

Here is The Paper Crown Prince.

And here is Fitting In.

But we never made it to City of Ambition because I was unexpectedly waylaid by Game Time: The Sports Photography of Walter Iooss. I used the word “unexpectedly” for a good reason. Full Disclosure: There are few people who are as disinterested in sports as I am. For me, watching people pursue, hit, or kick a ball is akin to watching paint dry. Baseball is the worst—do the players even build up a sweat?—but basketball, hockey, and soccer are only marginally better.

I will admit that sports such as skating, skiing, and snowboarding hold my attention longer, say, for five or ten minutes. But to paraphrase Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice—of some pleasures, I believe, a little goes a long way.

So imagine my surprise when Walter Iooss’s sports photographs reached out and pulled me in.  Not literally, of course—I was not, after all, in the middle of one of my own fantasy novels. However, when I intended to just pass through the gallery with his photos, I found that I couldn’t. Every one of Iooss’s photographs told a bright, vivid story, whether it was of someone famous, such as the tennis player Billie Jean King, or of children playing stickball in Havana, Cuba.

Here are a few of the photographs, taken with my wee wonder of a camera, that unfortunately did not do them justice. I had to crop in close to give some idea of the intensity of the pictures, and my reproductions are nowhere near as sharp as the originals. Still, I hope they give some idea of the power of Iooss’s work.

Here is Billie Jean King, Wimbledon, 1979:

Note how petite, almost waifish, Billie Jean King looks. Yet also note the look of intense determination on her face. Here is a woman who wants to win the game, and she has worked long and hard to acquire the necessary skills. Whoever is playing against her had better watch out.

Consider this astonishing shot of the diver Julia Cruz, Ft. Lauderdale, FL, 1984.

There she is, in the gray wide open, and she is about to dive backward into water that is way below her. Cruz’s body is poised, muscular, ready. A leap of faith?

Finally, there is Havana Cuba, March 1969.

Iooss writes that the children’s “eyes [are] fixed on the pitch like it’s the only thing in this world. Nothing else matters. To me, that’s sports in one single frame.” Even the dog is sitting in stiff attention.

Yes. For the first time I understand how it is for people who love sports. It’s how I feel about art—in all its varieties—and nature.

Readers, if you live within driving distance of Waterville, Maine, go see this exhibit. Even if you don’t like sports. I expect that you will be illuminated, the way I was, by these terrific pictures.

Fortunately, Colby is close enough so that we can easily return to see City of Ambition. Also, there is no admission fee, which means we can stop in and  just look at one exhibit. We don’t feel as though we have to hurry through the museum, when we are past the viewing point, to get our money’s worth.

The Colby Museum of Art is such a gift to central Maine.

Let’s just say that Clif and I are beginning to enjoy these anniversary outings very, very much. As a matter of fact, today I told Clif that I’ll be a little mopey when these celebratory excursions are over.

But never mind about that! We will enjoy these outings now and not think too far ahead. (A blizzard is predicted for next Tuesday. Oh, joy.)

Yesterday we went to the Colby College Art Museum for a noontime talk about the artist George Bellows (1882-1925) and the propaganda war-series lithographs he did for the United States during World War I. At Colby, some of these lithographs are featured in an exhibit called Graphic Matters: George Bellows and World War I. (To see a sample of Bellows’s work, click on the link.)

This is from the museum’s website: “His depictions of reported German atrocities on the Western front were used by media outlets and the federal government to stoke anti-German sentiment. Bellows’s ‘War Series’ highlights the complex and porous relationship between art and propaganda.”

The speakers, curators Justin McCann and Diana Tuite, concluded that Bellows’s images were overwrought and over the top. McCann and Tuite are not wrong. However, during the Q & A, I did note that after seeing the images from the current war in Syria, I would have to say that war itself is over the top. Maybe Bellows wasn’t wrong to portray war that way. The violence and destruction are so terrible that it’s a wonder that people ever recover.

Or maybe Bellows went too far with the propoganda. Anyway, not exactly the cheeriest of talks, but interesting nonetheless, and the small gallery was packed with seniors and students.

After the talk, we had lunch at the museum’s cafe, where we had some of the tastiest and most reasonably priced food we have ever eaten at a museum. When I asked the woman who served us where the food came from, I was not surprised to learn that most of it comes from Colby’s own kitchens. Long ago, I worked in the kitchen at one of the dorms, and the food was very good, made from scratch.

Clif and I shared a tasty homemade chicken soup and shrimp sushi rolls.

Naturally, we also had dessert, a brownie big enough for at least three people.

Refreshed, we went to another exhibition—No Limits: Zao Wou-Ki. This couldn’t have been more different from the Bellows exhibit.   Zao’s big, bold abstracts jumped with color. They reminded me of representations of the Big Bang, and they filled me with joy. Zao (1920-2013) was a Chinese-French artist. I’d never heard of him, and I was grateful to have the chance to see his work.

While I’m on the subject of gratitude…I am so grateful to have a college with such an excellent art museum within easy driving distance. This museum is free, as are the many lectures and talks that go with the exhibits.

I love nature, but I love art, in its various aspects, with equal intensity, and both are of vital importance to me. Clif is the same way. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons we’ve been married so long.

Whatever the case, we both feel fortunate to live in a rural area that has access to so much good art.

At the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens, the beds of beautiful flowers with their snappy color combinations would be enough to please most people. However, what makes these gardens really special is the attention that has been paid to the aesthetics of place—the use of stone, water, and sculpture. I know it is hyperbole  to call any place magical, but the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens really fits that description. Going through these gardens and taking pictures becomes a sort of mediation, a celebration of the beautiful now.

Here are some pictures of the sculpture at the Botanical Gardens. They only give the barest glimpse of what it’s like to be there and walk along the pathways with the drifts of flower, the expanse of blue sky all around, the many, many pieces of art, the dappled shade, and the solid yet lovely stonework.

Readers, there is only one solution. If you live within driving distance, go visit these gardens and see for yourself. If you don’t live within driving distance, then you can follow Botanical Gardens online.

A wonderful interlude, but now it’s back to Maya and the Book of Everything. I have a deadline of August 3 to get certain materials ready, and I am making good progress.

Onward!

On Saturday, Clif and I went to Waterville for another rousing  PechaKucha Night, or PK Night, as it is more commonly known. (PechaKucha means chitchat in Japanese.) Here is a little background info about PechaKucha gleaned from the official website:

“PechaKucha…is a simple presentation format where you show 20 images, each for 20 seconds. The images advance automatically and you talk along to the images. The presentation format was devised by Astrid Klein and Mark Dytham of Klein Dytham architecture. The first PechaKucha Night was held in Tokyo in their gallery/lounge/bar/club/creative kitchen, SuperDeluxe, in February, 2003.”

Why 20 images, each for 20 seconds?  Because some people have a tendency to, ahem, go on a bit too long when they have a microphone. The 20 x 20 format keeps people in reasonable bounds and often leaves the audience wanting more rather than wishing for less.

The thing I love about PK Nights is that they  “are informal and fun gatherings where creative [and local] people get together and share their ideas, works, thoughts, holiday snaps — just about anything, really — in the PechaKucha 20×20 format.”

Clif and I have been going to PK Waterville for several years. We so enjoy listening to and watching the various presentations given by everyday folks who are living creative lives.

Saturday’s PK Night was held in the Hathaway Creative Center, formerly the Hathaway Shirt Company. My father once worked at Hathaway Shirt Company, and it was one of the cornerstones of Waterville’s economy. However, the great factories in Waterville are gone, either torn down or converted into some other use, the way Hathaway Shirt Company has been. Times change, and Waterville is struggling to find a new way to support itself.

Hundreds of people came to last Saturday’s PK Night, and the huge meeting room was packed. A snappy jazz band, Mes Amis, played before the presentations started, and there were tasty appetizers provided by the Last Unicorn, a restaurant in downtown Waterville.

The presentations began, and they included a young woman recreating her stylish grandmother’s clothes and wearing them around NYC; another young woman, in Elizabethan garb, who has started a low-budget Shakespeare company; an acquaintance of ours—Pat Clark—who outlined her experience as a lumberjack and Jill coach at Unity College, where she works.

A little about Pat’s presentation: In Maine, there are lumberjack competitions at various fairs and colleges where young women and men compete to see who can saw the fastest and straightest, among other woody activities. They use hand tools, and let’s just say that these young people are in very, very good shape. Clif and I have never gone to one of those competitions but after listening to Pat and looking at the slides, it is on our must-see list. (Colby College in Waterville just had a woodsmen’s and women’s competition. Next year Clif and I will go.)

Then there was Tim Christensen’s “Art in the Holocene Extinction.” Christensen is a potter who lives in Down East Maine, and he makes exquisite etched-porcelain pottery. He regards potters as the record keepers of humanity, and his concern is the natural world—the systems that hold the world up, the weather, waves, and tides.

Christensen went on to speak of some alarming observations. One spring there were no smelts, and the lobsters shedded earlier.  How to save the animals? Finally, he spoke of how he etches about life Down East, how life emerges form the vernal pools, how bees pollinate, how hummingbird moths feed. He etches chickens in the coop, and life as man and animal.

Here is a link to Christensen’s website were you can see his beautiful creations.

When the evening was over, I came away inspired and informed, as I always do. The next PK Night is in July, and if the schedule allows, Clif and I will be there.