sculpture

It’s The Bean’s World

You have eight hours of free time in Chicago — two hours one evening, six the next day. For once you get to see more than the inside of O’Hare International. You think you will not visit The Bean. There are so many other things to see before the rains come. Well okay, maybe you will just walk by at a distance and see the crowds and be glad you are skipping The Bean, at least this time. What is The Bean anyway? Is it art, or already a commodity? Warhol might have painted The Bean, but this is 2017, right? Will you have trouble sleeping after consuming a legume of this size?

And yet, something happens — you are pulled, your brain waves curve and flatten and bulge like reflections in The Bean — and you go to there. You go to The Bean. It’s all right, everything will be all right. Surrender to The Bean. It’s The Bean’s world; we only live in it.

Advertisements

Fog Walk: A True Story

As I entered Golden Gate Park, it appeared that the first fog of autumn would be short-lived. It was already dissolving in wonderfully filtered sunlight when I reached a favorite stand of trees on the outskirts of the ballfields.

But by the time I reached the Music Concourse, twenty minutes later, the fog was as heavy as ever, even laced with sprinkles. Goethe and Schiller huddled, thrown off kilter, wondering if this was perhaps a fake news event.

The Roman Gladiator, always a man of action, was determined to resist. There was a vaguely quixotic feel to his battle with the elements.

On the other hand, Francis Scott Key sat back in contemplative resignation. Or maybe he was just preocuupied with thoughts of his most famous poem and what had become of it in recent days. Below him, fog or no fog, the blackbirds made their daily rounds.