“Carroña (Carrion)” by Javier Perez

 

There were old Monty Python sketches, that started with “Well, I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition…”

When we visited the new wing of the Corning Glass Museum, I didn’t expect crows.  But there were quite a few.

And this was my kind of ornithology – – indoors, out of the snow and sleet, and the subjects holding very still.

Among the creatures depicted on, and of glass, over the millennia, birds are clearly flying high, a perennial favorite.

The crows in the pictures above, are not glass.  They’re taxidermied  in the act of dismantling a ruby glass chandelier.

I’ve always kind of liked crows.

They’re a lot like some of my friends – – not outwardly colorful, but very smart, and horrible singers.

And some of them, easily distracted by shiny objects.

You’ve probably heard about the little girl in Seattle, who liked feeding the local crows.

The crows began to reciprocate by bringing her lots of interesting junk.  Including bits of glass, some beads and tiny lightbulbs.

[http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-31604026]

Here’s a funny coincidence, not making this up.

While I’m writing this, I’m listening online to the Rochester NPR station (WXXI 91.5 FM).

They’re playing Schubert’s “Winterreise

It’s a song cycle in German, not really my kind of thing, but growing on me.  Parts of it are beautiful, but very formal, and sorry, just a bit somber.

And the commentator just mentioned the song was “Die Krähe” (“The Crow”)!

I looked it up:  “A crow has been following him. It has never left him, expecting to take his body as its prey.”

OK, then.

If Schubert had just been walking with a ruby glass chandelier, he could have tossed it on the path, and run for it!

One more installation, and let this be a warning, to any crows following me, and getting ideas.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

13 Crows” by Michael Rogers. The description from the museum site: “Transparent light grey glass; cast, applied pigment; assembled, paper, glue, and wire. 13 cast glass crows. The bodies are wrapped and glued, mummy-like, with newsprint ripped from the front pages of a Japanese newspaper. The crows are hung upside down, suspended by their tails from a twisted wire.”

 

P.S.  I then looked at some of the blogs I follow, and look what Frenchapple 10 “Creartful Dodger” posted [wordpress.com/read/feeds/2949462/posts/1733572267]

It was just Day of the Crows around here!!

 

 

Art, Finger Lakes, FLX, NY, Upstate New York

Pictures of Upstate New York. January. Corning Museum of Glass ~ The Bad Crows

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My next few posts are going to be pictures from the Corning Glass Museum.

This is part of my series “Shameless Plugs for Upstate New York” – – my icy, crumbling, semi-medieval homeland.

The museum is a highlight of the “Southern Tier.”

This is the area along the Pennsylvania border, more often synonymous with job loss, aging population, and population loss.

Unless you’re making cheese, or meth, you’re often unemployed.

So Corning, NY, about four hours from New York City, seems a strange setting for a huge, rich treasure trove of ancient and modern glass – – that symbol of beauty, fragility, and civilization.

The explanation is the Corning Glass Company — operating here since 1868.

They’ve made glassware, windshields, Pyrex, Corelle, the telescope mirror for the Palomar Observatory, photochromatic lenses, and the glass for Edison’s light bulbs.

One of their offshoots, Steuben Glass, now defunct, made engraved pieces, for more than a century, that the White House used to present to foreign dignitaries, etc.

More recently, the company’s invented catalytic converters, touchscreens, and fiber optic cable.

But getting back to the museum.

Artists make pilgrimages here from around the world.

The bowl in the photograph has been on display, I think, since the 1980’s, and has always been one my favorites.

“Cityscape” is by Jay Munger, a California artist.

A Pyrex bowl, cut, sandblasted, and painted.

 

 

 

1980's, Art, Finger Lakes, FLX, NY, United States, Upstate New York

Pictures of Upstate New York. Corning Glass Museum.

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Teddy Roosevelt, sculpted in butter for the St. Louis World’s Fair, 1904. LOC. Personally, I thought, ghee, a pretty good likeness.

 

[Second in my Monumental Series “Learning History Through Statues”]

As you will recall, however regretfully, we began the series with the Father of Our Country, George Washington.

George was made for statues.

Statuesque since he was a lad.

Strikingly tall, striking a pose in almost countless statues, struck onto coins and then stuck into vending machines, stuck on letters as a stamp, stuck onto dollar bills, and also sometimes stuck on stumps, possibly of cherry trees.

 

Reenactor visiting Waterloo, NY for the Memorial Day commemoration.

 

LOC

Moving on, here we have a New Yorker, reproduced in numerous statues, and stuffed animals.

Governor, Soldier, President.

In the pictures above and below, “Theodore Roosevelt, Modeled in Butter”.

This was an exhibit at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition of 1904, commonly called the St. Louis World’s Fair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

As I pondered this monument, done in a style called  baroque arteriosclerotic, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

And, man, that’s annoying.  How many times, have I told my brain, “Don’t do that!

A historian’s thinking process should be like a bank robbery – – “Don’t nobody make no sudden moves!

I hate it when random ideas pop up, like a deranged Whac-A-Mole game, and you just cannot pound them back in their hole with the hammer.  So I was dismayed to realize that Teddy’s  1904 butter sculpture for the St. Louis World’s Fair, had somehow brought up a new and timely topic – the removal of statues.

Well, my brain can go off wherever it wants — so long, good riddance, write if you get work — and I’ll go my own way.

But here’s a concept that could help with that debate over taking down monuments.

My plan, the Statue Statute, combines the oleaginous evasiveness of a politician, with the icy reasoning of a historian.

 

“He who cannot put his thoughts on ice should not enter into the heat of dispute.” Nietzsche

 

Chill out, dude.  It’s simple.  In future, we’ll make all our statues out of butter or ice. 

Stick ‘em in a refrigerated case —  and here’s a key concept – – fans of the statue have to pay the electric bill to keep things cool.

You can donate online, or by feeding change into a meter.

Way more hygienic than having the actual person there, like Disney’s longest-running show,

“What a Sleeping Beauty!  Lenin on Ice!” in Red Square.

 

 

If we have a burning desire to see Jubilation T. Cornpone memorialized in the park, we have to pay to keep him

— in sparkling ice, granita, or well-marbled butterfat.

The Popsicle Pantheon, The Immortal Icebox of Heroes, La Crème Glacée de la Crème.

Ice, pure and transparent, is obviously the wrong medium for politicians, so we can “laud him, all ye people, in lard.”

If we don’t keep the power on, if we waffle, our hero turns into a pool of melted butter.

 

 

When memories and passions cool,

and their snow jobs come to light,

and there’s no frozen slush fund to pay the electric bill,

the Sub-Zero Politicians will just melt away

… dissolve like such stuff as bad dreams are made on.

And most likely, the world will just carry on

…spinning in greased grooves.

And in the end, even when all the lights go off,

and the stuff in our refrigerators has gone very bad, become sentient, and taken over the planet,

the people we actually want to remember, will remain

…frozen in our memories, in the times and forms we most love to recall.

 

 

We’ll get back to Teddy, another time, don’t worry, I won’t forget.

 

 

Art, Frostbite, History, Pantheon, Public Art, Removing Statues, Sculpture, statue, Things to Do When Your Water Crystallizes on You

Giving History an Icy Reception. (Learning All About History By Looking at Statues. Chapter II)

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Like so many sophisticated adventure-seekers before us, we were driving around Cattaraugus County, admiring the cows.

There’s a whole lot of ’em.

Restaurants, movie theaters, gas stations, people…not so much.

Eventually, a small sign told us we’d arrived in East Otto.

Apparently, we’d passed through West Otto, and Central Otto, without noticing.

Soon after, my cellphone found a signal again, and could pull up a map.

We discovered that we were southeast of Bagdad, Gowanda, and the Zoar Valley.

And due east of Persia.

Strangers in a strange land.

I hadn’t known our state had these outlandish places, in such a pastoral setting, but I liked the idea of eating cheese from such exotic locales.

Bagdad Brie, Persian Pecorino, Gowanda Gorgonzola.

And yes, as you may have guessed, we’d gotten off the interstate, decided to go home cross-country, no GPS, and were a bit lost.

The endless herds of Holsteins were the only familiar faces we’d seen.  It’s possible we’d seen some of them more than once, as we zigzagged around.

The roads wandered through pastures, woodlots, little hills. We passed an old guy cutting hay, wearing a wool plaid jacket in August, and as we went around the bend, and up a little hill, we realized there was something strange about our surroundings.

There were no cows to be seen.

No cows whatsoever.

Finding ourselves in a landscape totally vacant of cows made us uneasy.

 

 

And then, as we came over the rise, suddenly there were strange metal objects — tall, mysterious, like alien totems, as if we’d entered the territory of some weird cult.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There didn’t seem to be any roadblocks manned by the Children of the Corn, so we kept driving, and found we’d driven into the Griffis Sculpture Park.

A rusted but fantabulous remnant of an ancient but very groovy time, called “The Sixties”.

 

 

 

The wonderful man who created this place was named Larry Griffis, Jr.

He came back to Buffalo after serving in WWII, and started a business making nylon stockings.

During a visit to Italy, he fell in love with sculpture.

I saw a picture of him on the internet, and he reminded me a bit of Van Morrison.  His son, and now granddaughter, have kept his workshop in Buffalo going, and the park in East Otto is now hundreds of acres of fields, ponds, and woods, full of sculptures, by Griffis and other artists.

 

 

 

Some are pretty literal creations, like this giraffe, peering into the woods.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or this giant mosquito.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The woods are full of meandering paths, with abstract creations scattered about.

 

 

 

 

A pond is surrounded by flying metal geese, and rusted obelisks, which resemble small cellphone towers, as woven from rebar by a cargo cult — some overgrown, some toppled over, and merging into the undergrowth.

A shrine-like creation, marked “Santana,” held an offering of a dozen half-eaten acorns.

 

 

 

 

What the world needs now…Peace, Love, Rust-Oleum.

 

 

 

 

Statues and shapes are cast in bronze and aluminum, but most seem to be weathered and rusted iron.

One group resembles chess pieces, another, industrial elements.

 

 

 

 

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f

We’d arrived quite a distance from the main entrance, where a series of fields and woods harbors some hands-on creations, that you can climb on, and in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My favorite resembles the conning tower of a submarine, surfacing in a meadow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My snapshots only show a fraction of the collection.  You could easily spend the better part of a day, hiking around and discovering things.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Some of these creations, as the day got close to sundown, seemed a bit spooky, even foreboding.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But the overwhelming vibe of the place is of whimsical creativity and happiness.

 

 

 

 

 

So long for now, from atop the conning tower, surfacing somewhere in the Summer of Love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pictures were taken with an iPhone 5s.  The Griffis Park really isn’t that remote, it’s less than an hour south of Buffalo, and half that driving north from Salamanca.  Take a GPS with you. Hugs to the cows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

1960's, 1970's, Art, NY, Public Art, Sculpture, Upstate New York

Pictures of Upstate New York. August. A marvelous place for a moondance.

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