Parrish Blue

Now this is a Maxfield Parrish view at sunset if I ever saw one...


I was heading toward the lake shore yesterday evening (as I often do) and snapped this shot of the pond just northeast of Regenstein. It was one of those evenings when the fading light is rich and yet transparent in just such a way that it makes me feel as though I've been transported into one of Parrish's etherial and idyllic paintings. I found this one online that illustrates my point quite well...

Maxfield Parrish was a painter and illustrator most active during the first part of the 20th century and I fell in love with his work while completing my third year at the University of Utah. My first boyfriend had just broken up with me and at some point I moped my way over to the library to search for something that might distract me from the sorrows of a first love lost. I found a book about Parrish while browsing through the art section and was immediately entranced by the vivid hues and magical sort of crystalline light that warmed the scenes he depicted. His elegantly beautiful human subjects appeared serene and quietly exultant in their fantastical worlds and I found the balance and stillness inherent in the line and composition of each creation utterly mesmerizing.

He is known for what has become an iconic use of cobalt blue and consequently the distinctive color is often referred to as "Parrish blue". Of this, "Stars" (one of my favorite illustrations) is a perfect example...

Now, I don't often stargaze in the nude...well actually...I have to admit I've never indulged myself in this way (unfortunately perhaps). Still, I can't help but be drawn in to inhabit the soul of this character as she muses in innocent and hopeful wonder underneath a slowly darkening sky. It hadn't occurred to me until just now that perhaps my propensity for depicting female nudes may very well be influenced by Parrish. Hmmm...

Illinoisified

As of yesterday afternoon I (and my car) are officially licensed and registered residents of the state of Illinois. I have an illinois driver's license (with a decent picture even!...whew!) and voter card, and my little Yaris is still pouting a bit after having to give up its formerly clever and colorful vanity plates...

...for a set of reg'lar ol' run-o-the-mill "Land of Lincoln" tags.

***If there are any trumpeters reading this PLEASE don't steal my triple tonguing idea...I want to use it again someday when I have a bit more time and cash.

It was fun having those old plates. I secretly loved it when people would come up to me at gas stations, in the library parking lot, or even when they'd roll down their windows at stop lights and ask what ttkttkt meant. I giggled at the confused expressions I'd sometimes see from my rear view mirror. It usually happened this way: the passenger in the car behind me would lean forward, tilt their head, and quizzically furrow their brow before nudging the driver and pointing. I would see them talk slowly as they puzzled over the string of consonants...attempting to sound them out in various combinations before sitting back with unsatisfied expressions and shrugging a little. Very occasionally however, someone would get the reference and smile heartily. I've had a lot of wind and brass players come up to me and say "I love your license plates!" Ah well...time moves inexorably forward and things inevitably change.

Now that I'm an Illinoisan, I have to start being more afraid of tornadoes than earthquakes. Though there have in recent years been tornadoes in Utah and earthquakes in Chicago, both scenarios are relatively anomalous.

Growing up in Salt Lake I developed a sizable fear of "the big one" which everyone said was "overdue" and dangerously imminent. Sometimes the rumbling of a distant plane would wake me late at night causing my heart to pound furiously and my muscles to reflexively seize in anticipation of the shaking I was sure would begin in the next second. Of course that never happened. In fact I've never felt an earthquake in my life. A decent sized trembler happened in the early 90s, but I was walking to school at the time and didn't notice a thing. I was confused when a bunch of people in a nearby church ran out of the building and asked "did you feel that!?"

Last night we had a tornado warning (yes, a warning...not just a precautionary watch) in Cook county. A funnel cloud was spotted to the south west of Chicago (I am in the north east) and in some parts of the city the sirens blew. I was heading back to school for my evening practice when I heard the warning announced over the radio. When I arrived at Regenstein I walked to the lake shore and took this picture...

...the beautiful colors and calm-ish waters provided little indication that trouble could be brewing nearby...

Storm Front

Well, I'm back in Chicago after a quick trip to North Dakota for the big Anderson family reunion (more on that...and a bunch of other back-logged news...later), and as I ready myself to practice this morning I've been watching an amazing storm front roll in...

I went out to the lounge to take pictures of it through rain-streaked panes of glass, and as I looked out over the water, this menacing mothership of a cloud (its odd resemblance to an extraterrestrial airship enhanced by reflections of lights inside the lounge lining up temporarily with its leading edge) moved in with unnerving speed to blacken the sky and cast an impressive shadow over the lake. The wind is going crazy out there and I half expected to see a waterspout twisting and dancing somewhere out near the horizon (shivvvvverrrr!)

Something Unexpected in the Library

Who could've ever predicted this? On one wall of the Northwestern University Music Library there is a huge oil painting (maybe 6 feet across) depicting a scene from Bryce Canyon Utah.

I've known (and smiled about) this painting ever since I first visited the library, but today I got my first opportunity to take a picture of it (in other words: today was the first time there was no one manning the front desk to make me feel self conscious about snapping a picture).

There is no information about the painting in the music library, so out of curiosity I tried googling the artist's name to see what turned up. Looks like Robert Lindneux was a pretty highly renowned painter who lived from 1871-1970 and specialized in western subjects. He was born in NYC to Swiss parents and studied art and painting in Germany and Paris. In 1889 he saw Buffalo Bill's Wild West show in Paris and immediately fell in love with the idea of the American West. He moved to Billings Montana where he became a trapper, horse wrangler and cowboy in order to more fully immerse himself within the culture and landscape he wanted to paint.

I wish I knew what lookout this painting depicts. I tried looking through online images to see if I could match one with the painting, but have been unsuccessful thusfar. I guess that in a way it's a bit refreshing to realize that Lindneux found and illustrated a unique perspective of the park that cannot easily be duplicated by any one of thousands of travel pics taken by casual visitors over the years.

Tulip in the Rain

Well it's no longer clear and the wind is still gusting like mad, but to be fair I guess it has warmed up a bit (low 50s) and there are lots of lovely flowers around campus...so I'll do my best to quit complaining.

Waves

Today dawned clear (Halleluja!) and cold (mid 30s with a substantial wind chill...is winter EVER going to end?!), and the waves on Lake Michigan were as big and boisterous as I've ever seen them (WOW!).

My Latest

Critters

As I was leaving the music building last night I noticed an enormous dragonfly perched on the wall outside...

This beautiful creature must have only recently emerged as an adult now that the weather has started to pretend to warm up. Maybe he even hatched from a nymph just this morning and soon after found himself scrambling for shelter from the cold and rain.

Not too far away, but much lower on the wall--about 6 inches off the ground and underneath a protective ledge--something else caught my eye. It could easily have been a crumpled-up leaf or piece of trash, but when I moved closer I was shocked to see a little bat clinging to the cement.

I watched it for a while without detecting any movement, but when I stroked it's fur with a long piece of dried grass I found lying nearby, the tiny furball inhaled deeply and stretched its head back to look at me for a moment before moving back into its protective huddle. I felt bad for this little guy too. He looked wet and cold and was likely very hungry. All species of bat found in Illinois are insectivores and I'm guessing it's slim pickin's during these chilly days of early spring.

There is of course nothing I can (or should) do but let nature run its course. I looked up some information about bats this morning and it looks like trying to capture and care for this one didn't seem like a very good idea for someone like me--even though that has always been my first impulse from the time I was little. For all I know, the reason he's perched so close to the ground is because he's sick--which might even make it dangerous for me to try to handle him. A more optimistic hypothesis is that he has reverted to a state of temporary hibernation where the energy demands of his system are low and he can bide his time until the temperature rises more consistently and every night becomes an insect buffet. Any species native to this area must have devised some method to cope with long, cold, miserable springs...right?

When I got to school this morning, both these critters were still there--though the dragonfly had fallen a bit lower on the wall and didn't seem to be hanging on with as firm a grip as he had last night. I'll keep watching and hoping they make it, though the continuing chilly and rainy forecast doesn't bode well.