The Smallest Nail

I’m not a religious person.

I was raised Catholic, but consider myself spiritual, in a very broad sense, and I have conversations with >God< on a regular basis. Well, they’re more like monologues, as I do the talking.

Last night, however, I had a dream wherein I was told by God, with the Capital G, to “Repair My House from the smallest nail.”

Yup. I got an unfunded mandate from God.

But is this a literal mandate? Am I to go and publicly speak about how much money could be raised to help the poor and destitute if the Vatican opened their vaults and sold a few of their art works? Am I to point out how the Gospel of Prosperity is an insult to God, because it promises the the riches that Jesus toppled tables over in the Temple? Am I to point out that to”Go with love,” is much better than to “Go in peace”?

What, or who, is the “smallest nail”?

This is a Love Letter

This morning I dreamed of someone I haven’t seen in over thirty years: Pete Doyle.

In my dream, Pete was all mixed up with the actor Henry Cavill, who is a whole ‘nother story, but I knew it was Pete. He was in another bedroom in my old house, down near my dad’s bedroom, but upstairs, in the attic. He was going to buy the house once we had moved all of our things out of it, but as usual, I was behind in my laundry….

I met Pete one spring (I think) at South Street Seaport in the late ’70s. He was part of the pier crew; I was a volunteer docent for the museum, and still in high school. Sometimes our paths would cross, sometimes not, one time I got to go see the inside of the apartment he shared with a couple of pier crew guys. Pete was always a gentleman, and never made a pass at me.

The last time I saw Pete, he was getting ready for a date (not with me), his dark brown curls still damp from the shower, black jeans on, shirt almost buttoned. Pete had green-brown eyes, and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

He smelled of fresh shower and Paco Rabanne. No one has been able to or been allowed to wear Paco Rabanne since.

I was lamenting about some late-teenage/early twenties angst. Time, of course, has erased that drama from my memory: It amazes me how many earth-shattering crises are faded out or completely erased by time. But Pete said to me that family life is real life and the working life is our illusion. I’ve carried that with me close to forever now.

I knew Pete was from Massachusetts, around Martha’s Vineyard. I knew he was an aspiring writer. I knew he had worked on something with Chuck Burris — yes, “The Gong Show” Chuck Burris. Pete Doyle, however, is a fairly common name, and I’m not a highly skilled Googlegirl to do more than a couple of search terms at a time.

I miss Pete.

I’d like to know what’s become of him, and if life treated him kindly. I’d like him to know just how much of an impact he made on this one human being, so many years ago. If you had a Pete in your life, let them know they impacted you. If you know my Pete, you’re blessed, and tell him to drop me a line.

Prepping for my Life

My mind has been in a state of large curd cottage cheese.

I’ve been more concerned with politics than I want to be. The US government is in turmoil, people are being forced to work with the promise of pay sometime in the future, and I’m looking for a new job.

Sometimes it’s really, really, hard to stay upbeat and optimistic, but I stay busy, creating. Currently I’m creating one-of-a-kind blank greeting cards (see above) that are waiting to find new homes, as well as other collages and art items. And I have an idea for which I’m developing an actual business plan.

As always, my art is available for sale, and reproduction rights are also available. I have a large portfolio of photographs as well as the collage cards, and I recently did a custom book cover for “Duel Visions” which will be published in February.

My blog, “Just Visiting,” is up and running again and you’ll see new content with links to other websites — we’ll be seeing more art and crafts galleries, and interviewing the creators, as well as keeping an eye on the physical accessibility of these places. Even though I got my second hip replaced in June, I still have difficulty walking, and so I’m always on the lookout for ease of access.

Please let me know what you’d like to see! Comments and suggestions are always welcome!

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Thank you, Mr. Serling

I have a problem with time, and I blame it wholly on Rod Serling.

Like others, I grew up on The Twilight Zone in reruns, and as “primitive” as that early television was, its writing was top-notch, and it left its mark on me.

Mr. Serling was always playing with time, wishes, and consequences. Who could forget poor Mr. Bemiston (Burgess Merideth) in “Time Enough At Last”? Always trying to read, always being thwarted by his work or his wife, who regarded reading as a waste of time.

Being an artist, whether I’m immersed in photography or mixed media or assemblage, work definitely does get in my way, but grudgingly I admit, it does keep me in supplies.

Misha, however, does not regard creating as a waste of time. Being a writer himself, he understands the fire that burns inside, and he believes that all of us have in us the need to create — art, writing, gardening… so many, many things.

My problem with time is, like other people, there doesn’t seem to be enough of it. Work is x hours, commuting is y hours. Cleaning is w hours, sleeping is v hours. To see friends is that much less time that I have for painting.

So I make, or remake, clocks. Discarded clocks that no longer have homes come to me and find themselves with new faces, and maybe new homes. We’ll see.

 

Just Visiting: trust

Once, long ago, trust was easy

we held hands, blew dandylions, and played tag.

we shared secrets, rode bikes, ran away from home until suppertime

then one day it changed

you locked your heart away

I did too

and I never did find the key again

 

“trust” mixed media assemblage 2018 by Susan Bolhafner

The Passion of Art

Since early June, I’ve been on a tear: Creating, creating, creating. I can’t stop.

Collages, assemblages – the images pop into my brain full-blown like Athena emerging from Zeus’s head; it’s all I can do to get my clumsy fingers to translate image into physicality.

I’m not worried about making a statement: You see what you want to see. All I need to do is make the creative energy come through — Can you feel it??

 

Outside, Looking In

…Another in a series of accessibility-related blogs….

I’m back in my soon-to-be-replaced-hip boat, waiting for my June 6th surgery.

Meanwhile, I move around outside my house by wheelchair; indoors I use a four-wheeled “walker.” I’m in constant pain, and everyday, I carefully and dutifully catalog the new aches and pains as the crop up: Currently, I have a strained left wrist, and a right ring finger “trigger finger,” and occasional numbness and tingling in my left thigh.

Exciting times, this.

I try to stay active and get out on weekends.

This past Saturday, I ventured out of my comfort zone to attend an “event” in the first block downtown/old town Belleville, Illinois, and frankly I was beyond disappointed: I was angry that over an hour of my life had been needlessly thrown away.

First I circled the block and consecutive blocks looking for ADA parking, and found none on E. Main Street. I found no signage directing me to any public parking lots that might have some ADA parking. When I found a parking spot on the block I needed, one of the shop owners had parked over the marked white line, giving me very little room to get my wheelchair out of the car trunk and onto the sidewalk. Another shop owner said there was handicap parking on the east side of the street, but when I wheeled myself to that side, I found he was mistaken.

Belleville advertises many, many activities though the year — Christmas, art festivals, etc., but frankly, for those of us who are mobility-challenged and try to remain as independent as possible, it’s a waste of time.

Just Visiting: Old Town Albuquerque

I had my right side Total Hip Replacement surgery on August 30, 2016. It’s amazing, this absence of pain. It, the pain, becomes such an integral part of existance that when you wake up from anesthesia and it’s gone, you’re momentarily confused.

Nevertheless, it’s awesome.

Except for the restrictions.

No bending. No bending while standing, no bending while sitting, so bending past 90 degrees. That means you use a three foot shoe horn to put on your shoes, and get someone else to tie them if there are laces, or you work out something else. You use a special contraption to put on your socks. You do not bend over to wash your feet and legs when you’ve been given permission to shower. No sleeping on your surgery side, and if you sleep on the other side, put a pillow between your legs.

And no driving.

Anyone who knows me, knows “no driving” and “MzSusanB” are mutually exclusive terms but I followed doctor’s orders.

Dr. Surgeon cleared me to drive again three weeks after surgery, on a Tuesday. The next morning I was on the road. First I wanted to see my mother in Atlanta, then I wanted to go to Myrtle Beach. Then, on the road to Myrtle Beach, I turned around and headed for Sedona, and ended up in Albuquerque.

No longer tied to my wheelchair, I was using a two wheeled walker to get around, so accessibility was still needed. Old Town ABQ is not for the faint of heart, as the sidewalks are brick, so the going is bumpy. The old buildings that make up the square often have narrow doorways, and the shops themselves are difficult to negotiate because they’re small and have steps in awkward places.

If you use a manual or motorized wheelchair or scooter, use caution.

But the air is clear and the colors vivid and I fell in love with the area.

 

 

 

Just Visiting: The Art Institute of Chicago (Van Gogh’s Bedroom)

The Art of Accessibility visits Chicago’s famed Art Institute to be immersed in Vincent Van Gogh’s sketches and paintings (as well as other works of art). 

The Art Institute is breath-taking.  While fairly sprawling, its collections are cohesive and comprehensive, but from a wheelchair accessibility point-of-view, the Institute seems to  lack understanding of the spirit of “accessible”.

Entry into the Van Gogh exhibition was on the second level. As shown above, there were two ques to enter at the pillars, with the introductory verbiage on the left wall and enlargement details on the right. As you went in on the right, you begin to see Van Gogh’s journey to Arles. There was no set path to follow; consequently, there were often bottlenecks as people viewed and backed up to view again, various works.

But works are art are often hung at “eye-level,” and eye level seems to mean the viewer should be roughly the same height as the curator who hung the exhibition.

Even without the wheelchair, I’m 5’2″ tall, but in the chair, any work under glass such as this painting, had to be viewed at a severe angle to avoid glare.

Then there was the opportunity to see works body blocked by those in front of you, which, I guess, is the price to be paid for infirmity.

The worst part of the whole thing occurred in the gallery which housed the three bedroom paintings. There are subtle differences among them, and I had managed to work my way to the front of the crowd, with the intention to just slowly move along with the crowd to view them.

However, a uniformed attendant (guard?) decided that I was actually trying to get out of the gallery and moved me even further in front of the crowd and moved them back so I had a clear path out of the gallery. He then continued to clear paths until I was out of the exhibition completely. I could have, should have, spoken up, but I think I was too dumbfounded to utter a protest.

The exhibition, of course, emptied into a gift shop, but there was hardly room for me to see what was available (sorry, Liz!), and the gift shop exit led you back to entry, on the side of the introduction, where everyone exiting decided they suddenly needed to read the what they missed.

Can you say “log jam”?

The rest of the Institute is fairly easily accessible, with a few tricky places.

As I said, my chief difficulty has to do with the eye level  of art and the accompanying signage. This seems to be a universal problem, which could be easily remedied if the curator(s) borrowed a wheelchair from the concierge desk and travel the exhibition or galleries before deciding final placements.

Look at it from a different point of view and make art truly accessible to all.

 

 

 

 

 

Just Visiting: Missouri Botanical Garden, St. Louis, MO

Life, and the Art of Accessibility

Part 1: The Grounds

I will admit it: the Missouri Botanical Garden (MoBot) is my gold standard — “the best, most reliable, or most prestigious thing of its type.”

It is the botanical garden I know most intimately, since it is only a few miles from my home. I have walked it (when I had functioning hips) countless mornings through every sort of St. Louis weather. I have taken thousands of photographs, some that I’ve published in Flickr, others I’ve exhibited. Now that my major exercise is via wheelchair, MoBot’s universal accessibility design is what I use, consciously and subconsciously, to contrast and compare other facilities.

As I said, MoBot is my standard. Only 75 acres within the city limits of St. Louis, this place was once Henry Shaw’s country estate. It is lovingly cared for by staff and volunteers, and hosts several festivals throughout the year.

It features several themed and educational gardens, including the English Woodland Garden, the world-famous Japanese Garden, and the Kemper Center for Home Gardening.

 

Ridgeway Visitors’ Center

Ramp into Plaza

To the Ottoman Garden

This venue is fairly easy to maneuver — most grades are easy, with a couple that are challenging – such as the slope from the Japanese Garden to the George Washington Carver Garden, but if you take your time with them, you’ll have very little difficulty. I have not found one slope or ramp where I feared losing control of the wheelchair.

While it is not perfect, for the most part, some serious thinking went into the accessibility design for this garden.  — Except for the handicap stall in the Women’s Room in lower level of the Kemper Center: I’m not sure what they were thinking about when they slapped that one in….

In fairness, at this visit I did not try maneuvering through several of the buildings: The Linnean House, The Climatron, and The Temperate House. I was enjoying being outside in the sun and the brisk breeze, and by going into the buildings (especially The Climatron), my lens would have fogged up. In a month or two, when the temperature moderates, I’ll tackle those and review them.

I did, however use the handicap-accessible restroom at the Japanese Garden (a little difficult to get into, since the main entry door is not assisted), and I browsed the goodies in the Garden Gate Shop. The shop has plenty of room for browsing, and most items are within arms’ reach. Staff members were courteous and offered to help without sounding like they were being bothered, even though it was a very busy late morning (a plus in my book!).