Thingish Things - Winnie the Pooh

I taught a class in the History of Children's Literature this afternoon and, after 3 hours of John Locke and his mighty influence, have Winnie the Pooh on the brain. Winnie the Pooh, by A. A. Milne, was first published in 1926, long after John Locke 'invented' the idea of delight as a good way to get children to learn what they needed to know, but it is a very Lockean book, full of objects and experiences and reflections on the important things in life. As you surely know, Christopher (after Columbus) Robin (after Crusoe) goes exploring in the "Hundred Acre Wood" with the help of his trusty band - Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, Tigger, Roo, and several other creatures, all charming in his or her own way. Don't let the plasticized, commercialized, trivialized Disney gloss stand in the way of getting to know the real thing, if you don't already. E. H. Shepherd's illustrations are full of spirit, sketchy but firmly drawn; they fit Milne's text to perfection, as if they sprang forth together fully formed. Here are some samples, along with a few quotes from one of children's literature's most endearing masterpieces.

"Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -- " and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.

Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave.

Just because an animal is large, it doesn't mean he doesn't want kindness; however big Tigger seems to be, remember that he wants as much kindness as Roo.

You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.

Hot times, cool Art

It's hard to think in this heat, but my thoughts are of art that can provide a little cool. American art, specifically, rather than beach scenes by Monet or breezy views of the Mediterranean by Matisse. Same time period, different landscapes. A 'local' favorite is Maurice Prendergast, a sort of American Post-Impressionist, who was also a member of The Eight, a group based in New York. Maurice, with his brother Charles, a lesser artist, lived in Boston, and many of his paintings are of late 19th century bathers in blousy beachwear, grouped on New England beaches under colorful parasols. There's a lovely spottiness to his work, especially his watercolors, that pleases by a sense of effortless design, as well as the atmosphere of bright sun and cool shade. Or how about Winslow Homer's gorgeous
watercolors of blue Caribbean waters, with soft sandy beaches and breezes that blow, warm and gentle, right out of the frame into your over-heated face? If you'd rather cool off by comparison, there's Edward Hopper's painting of a young woman in the heat of an East Coast summer. No air-conditioning in her upper floor apartment, her body and her bed stripped down to almost nothing, she sits facing stoically into bright New York City sunshine. If you've ever been there in mid-summer, you don't have to guess at the humidity. And then, Thomas Eakins's terse portrait of a rower on the Schuylkill here in Philadelphia - at last there's water, but the damp red handkerchief and the grimace on his face speak not only of exertion but a relentless heat that, right now, right here, is dragging everybody down. And finally, not to leave out the West Coast and a lighter, later aesthetic, Wayne Thiebaud's Ice Cream cones - no heat wave would be complete without them.

BIG BAMBU on the Met Roof

The roof of the Metropolitan Museum is a magical place, with or without the bamboo forest that has lately sprung up there.  Is springing, continues to spring, rather, because the BIG BAMBU project, by brothers Doug and Mike Starn, is an installation that won't be finished until it's, well... finished (on October 31.) I got to the Met last week just before the museum opened, planning to be first in line for tickets to take the free walking tour up and around the forest on a bamboo plank trail that is being laid higher and higher as the months go by. I was already in a magical state of mind, having walked across Central Park, through the Rambles and the woodland areas where you feel like you're somewhere in the backwoods of Kentucky rather than under the shadow of a zillion tall buildings, so I'd almost forgotten that in New York you are never, by law, first in line for anything. I took my place on the steps behind tourists clutching City Passes and listened to a multitude of languages while I waited. Not first, but early; the line for the tour inside the museum was only a few people long. But there are rules for this tour and I'd worn the wrong shoes - no open toes. I talked them into giving me a ticket and swore I'd go back home and change, but after a look at the threatening sky, I figured it would rain before I could manage that, so I went straight to the roof to see what I could see. There was almost no one there yet - you know you're early when the snack bar isn't even open! It is truly a forest - a step or two off the elevator and you're in a cocoon-like mesh of bamboo. The effect is both unsettling and soothing - the bamboo brings to mind Chinese painting, giant pandas in Asian lands - it's out of place not only in the heart of a major city but in American consciousness (though the bamboo used for the project is American grown.) It is exotic, but as you walk between, among, and through the stalks they provide a slightly swaying vertical reassurance, as if you are in a secure place where dangerous open spaces can be kept at bay. Staring straight up through the mesh to the sky far above is a perspective that seems a natural experience similar to being in an actual forest, but also places you in some kind of abstract drawing, with seemingly random criss-crossings that you know were carefully planned by the artists.  I was interested to see that the bamboo hangs loose - if any individual stalk rests on the floor it is by chance. The stalks are tied together with various colors and weights of climber cords which are wound tight enough to convince you that the structure will hold, but limp hanging ends are everywhere, adding color and a bit of careless aesthetic.  Because the exhibit is in process every day of it's existence, the work is also on display. I watched a small wiry man hard at work; for a while he had his radio on, blaring an incongorous ordinary worksite noise into the magic atmosphere. Behind a wall a man with a saw was readying the next set of bamboo stalks. There's an area left open on the roof terrace so you can sit and contemplate the tightly woven but lacy structure as it rises over the man-made wilderness of populous Manhattan.  I'll go back for the tour sometime before the exhibit ends; I look forward to the climb into the clouds.