Same Thing Only Different

Back when I was in 3^rd grade we were initiated into the world of maps and geography. It was year to study the Fifty Nifty Yoo-nited States.  On a map pulled down like a heavy window shade our teacher would reveal our country to us in rainbow of hues; Nebraska was green, South Dakota was pretty pink,Iowa daffodil yellow.

As a  child who relied on adults for most of my information about the world, you can imagine my surprise to find out, as a 4^th grader crossing the Mighty Missouri into Iowa on vacation, that the Missouri River was not bright blue nor very mighty, and Iowa was not, in fact, a pretty shade of yellow.

I felt a little of that even last week as Handsome Husband and I jetted across the central United States on our way to a conference in Phoenix, Az. As we flew thousands of feet above the earth I looked vainly for those large black dots indicating cities, the dotted and dashed lines showing boundaries, and yes, the subtle but sure colors that would differentiate Nebraska, Colorado, and Arizona. It’s a concept that gets filed with the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and the Hairy Scratch, which is to say that some of us agree not to talk about it in the presence of others, but we know inside it’s real.

While HH was busy at his conference I walked the downtown Phoenix area and marveled at how beautiful that part of the city was. Together  we enjoyed browsing through  Scottsdale galleries filled with stunning landscapes, abstracts and sculptures.  We were both delighted at the color and vibrant brushwork of a collection of Russian Impressionist paintings, and equally intrigued in how current artists view our modern world.

Of course, we managed to do a bit of tourist-y sightseeing as well...

In the land of summer all year long the contrast between metropolitan living and my hometown was vast. Our hotel probably employed more people than populate our entire community.
Yet there were some amazing similarities...

Both Arizona and Nebraska have lovely trees...

. . . both Phoenix and Geneva have government buildings...

 

                                                                         

 ... both places have nice paths and roadways ...

... we've got rivers ... so do they...

... and artists the world over find ways to share their artistic endeavors ...

It was good to get away, and equally good to come home.  Since returning I've been putting the finishing touches on a few paintings before packing them up for my upcoming exhibit. 

I'll be the featured artist at Stuhr Museum in Grand Island, Ne. during the museum's annual Wings Over the Platte Juried Art Exhibit.  My exhibit is titled Land Marks, a reference to both the method of creating a landscape as well as the natural features unique to the Platte River Valley.  

All of this coincides with the highly anticipated return of the sandhill cranes on their migratory path this spring. This event brings people from all over the world to witness the incredible spectacle of hundreds of thousands of sandhill cranes funneling themselves through this vital area of the Platte River. 

Wings Over the Platte and my exhibit, Land Marks, open Thursday February 16th and will be available until Sunday, April 1st.

Your call to action?  Head out to the Grand Island Ne. area, watch cranes , hear their amazing warbling and enjoy their dance. Then scoot over to Stuhr Museum and see how artists from across the country, interpret the Platte River Valley in a variety of media.

Arizona can't match that. 

Sandhill Crane Story

Greetings All-

The earth has a rhythm of her own.  This blue orb we inhabit for such a small moment has been hanging in space for time untold, and will be here long after the most educated, advanced and civilized human has turned to dust.
There is power in these rhythms, both the power to destroy and the power to sustain life.

Handsome Husband and I, along with all of you, were astounded and deeply touched by the re-shaping of Japan by earthquake and tsunami.

Platte River south of Kearney, Nebraska, March 2011

At the opposite end of the spectrum, we were astounded and touched as well by the return of the Sandhill Cranes through central Nebraska.

This ancient rhythm of life has occurred through centuries of time, yet it never ceases to amaze.

HH and I took time out from the routine and spent an afternoon following the Platte River west to the place where half a million cranes will stop for a short time to re-fuel on their way north to Canada and Siberia. 

To witness this ancient ritual and hear their constant strange vocalizing brought calm and assurance that the rhythm of life would go on, and helped put our shallow worries and needs into historic perspective.

As evening rose on the river and cranes began to settle into the shallow waters for safe-keeping, HH and I felt comforted by the strength and unwavering determination of these truly magnificent creatures.

We are reminded that time passes methodically, spasmodically, unfairly or momentously. The earth heaves and adjusts.  Sandhill Cranes and other creatures will migrate thousands of miles north and south, unaware of the moods or accomplishments of their human counterparts. 

I am put in my place and find that comforting somehow.