Category: Special Events

I love spending gorgeous days outside. Although this Community Art Sunday centered around kids, I nourished my inner child as soon as I walked in by blowing bubbles.  At least I started off by blowing them. After a few seconds, I just held up the stick and let the strong wind do most of the work.

Next stop was designing my own art advocacy postcard. My heartfelt message was far better than my so-called design:

Only cool thing about that card was the juxtaposition of my finger shadows. Nonetheless, I’ve learned from experience that I can seldom go: 1, 2, 3, DRAW!  I’m much better at writing on the spot than drawing on the spot. I normally start off overly ambitious. So I drew very simply, which wasn’t at all interesting to look at, but at least I didn’t spend a lot of time drawing a hideous mess. 

Of course, I had to photograph the homemade mermaid costume. Still not sure what her cause was, but I liked the effort. 

Here’s another mom of the year, “holding” her son’s pet lizard while he was off playing.  Great day to hang out in the sun. 

This display made my day since I’d previously thought all bees lived in hives. I’d never heard of solitary bees that made nests. 

I participated in a short field trip to visit the Sustainable Food Center’s sponsored community gardens. Now, if only I had the life-giving touch to grow food or any plant for that matter. I thought I’d be more successful with a nearly indestructible plant, but it lasted about 18 months and its dead potted stem has sat on my balcony for much longer than that.

Those raised beds were for people who wanted to garden without bending over.

I discovered a few years ago that I wasn’t, in fact, allergic to bees; so, I left the tour group to go closer to the aviary. Although the glass walls may have given the bees a sense of being enclosed, there wasn’t a ceiling. 

This flowered bench was my favorite and actually made me wish I could grow plants. Perhaps when I retire–if that fine day ever comes–I’ll make a sincere gardening effort.

I probably would have left after the garden tour, except I’d heard a designer cake was on its way. These two cake decorators have their own TV show on Food Network. I’d love to catch a glimpse of myself in this episode, which will air some time in July.

At first, I thought they had a parachuting wombat on the cake, which made no sense at all since there aren’t any calico wombats and clearly it was a parachuting cat. 

I knew since the whole afternoon was dedicated to kids, I’d have to wait until they and their parents received cake first.

People swarmed the table worse than bees. After a while, I noticed that people who had cake remained milling around the table. One of the women in charge of the event also realized that phenomenon and gently shooed them away. That’s when I made my move.

I’d only seen one episode of their show, but the cake designers oozed passion and joy as they sliced and served their creation.

I had to slow my roll just to take a picture of what I had left of my piece of cake.

I asked a friend who happened to stroll by to take our picture.

Next thing I know, the TV cameras swarmed him. I would have loved it if he had broken out with one of his memorized poetry slam pieces right there on the spot. Instead, he enjoyed both the cake and frosting-covered rice Krispy while answering questions.

After dancing forro with a friend, I called it an afternoon well spent and went home to do some art on my own.

The first time I hiked this area with my Meetup group, we had a pretty relaxed time although the temperature was much hotter. This time around, some people actually bailed for fear of rain. The forecast was “cloudy,” which I pointed out, but not “rain.” Nonetheless, those of us who still met enjoyed the temporary cold front that brought us 68-degree weather and cool breezes. I was the only one in the group who knew it was Earth Day. Spending time in nature is a fantastic way to destress and celebrate the planet. 

We crisscrossed those water crossings three times. The first two times because we ended up at the end of the trail in someone’s back yard. The third because, despite three GPSs, we managed to get lost. Each time we crossed, I made sure of my footing, especially my permanently injured left foot, which slid uncontrollably one time. At least I didn’t fall, but it hurt. 

At one point, our organizer suggested we take the “urban” trail, which was code for walking along the streets in the residential and commercial areas. Along the urban trail, we finally saw some wildlife. The woman who spotted the deer was a little too loud and animated when she saw them. I whipped out my camera just to capture them fleeing.

We ended up walking five miles instead of the original three miles we’d set out to do. For the first time ever, I had a copper sleeve on my left knee and ankle. Those things made the post hike recovery much more enjoyable, especially when three of us ended up at one of my favorite barbecue restaurants. The two guys wolfed down all of their food, but I had ordered enough to take some home.  I don’t usually go out to eat nor take home any leftovers; so I made the visit count and got three more meals out of it. Delicious brisket tacos!

I met other members of the Art Hikes Meetup at the HOPE (Helping Out People Everywhere) Outdoor Gallery AKA Graffiti Park. 

I’d seen pictures of this park and even footage of it in a participatory work at the Austin Short Film Festival a few years ago, but I had no idea it was merely a block west of S. Lamar, near Whole Earth Provisions.

The place oozed a youthful, creative vibe with a range of spray can talent. 

If there was anything one considered a masterpiece, the best course of action would have been to take a picture.

Definitely a strong lesson in nothing lasts forever. Enjoy the moment while you have it.

Despite being outside, a hazy spray can paint fog enveloped the park. I kept walking through the fog to find fleeting pockets of fresh air.

Even knowing the resilience of plants, I still felt bad for the grafittied plant, which needed an unpainted surface to photosynthesize.

Among the littered ground, I found a tiny gold ring. We all assumed it must have belonged to a little girl since it barely fit on my pinkie on my non dominant hand. I told the other Meetup members in jest that this was the way to be married–not live with one’s spouse! As it turned out, after several hand washings, the golden paint wore off the metal after two weeks. Pretty symbolic of most of my romantic relationships with the exception that the ring lasted longer.

The park was launched in 2011 with the intention of being a temporary installation where artists of all stripes could express themselves.

My group speculated about the concrete structures that served as the canvas. To me, it looked like a construction site ran out of money.

What I’ve since read online is that it was the remaining foundation of an old building that HOPE, a group dedicated to bringing attention to the turmoil in the Sudan, repurposed.

As much as I enjoyed the views, I was amazed at how many parents allowed their small kids to wander around without holding their hands. The teacher in me became especially nervous when one teenaged girl stood on the ledge while her friend posed like she was pushing her over the edge. 

The view from the park revealed the city of Austin as I knew it.

Even the view above the park seemed surreal as if the foundations of a castle lay in the graffitied creative energy of the people.

And no visit to the park would be complete without a classic shot of Castlehill, which serves as everyone’s reference point of how to find the urban stylish park.

A 2/3 replica of Stonehenge exists a mere two hours outside of Austin. Yet, the first structure to greet our adventurous Meetup group was a Moai.

We’d all piled into the organizer’s Honda Fit and rode comfortably to the location. For a group of strangers, we gelled quite well politically, which was good because the car was packed and there wouldn’t have been anywhere to hide!

Hard to believe that the real Stonehenge is 1/3 bigger than this replica since, at least in my mind, they tower like mountains in all the pictures I’ve seen. I would’ve loved to have heard more about the speculated use of Stonehenge on a guided tour at this scaled down version.

Our organizer, a Texas history buff, kept us well entertained on the drive there and back, but we all scattered to explore the destination grounds individually.

Besides arithmetic, I love algebra and geometry.  The aesthetically and mathematically arranged stones, together with their shape,  made this such a peaceful place to visit.

I imagined attending a spoken word/storytelling event in that beautiful space.

Even the Moai inspired me to ponder dialogue I’d write for them.

The outdoor theatre surprised me. I’d seen the indoor theatre on my way to the bathroom, but that outdoor one took advantage of the beautiful surroundings.

As much as this creative compound offered, an art gallery and a facility for workshops and classes shared the space.

Not only was the ladle tree shiny, but it moved in two directions, which looked fascinating when it got going.

I didn’t see a description for this woman, but I felt she projected melancholy, given the lack of rain.

Sight on seen, I liked the blue wine bottles since I’m a red-wine wino, myself! Then I read the description.

I’d never heard of this Congolese tradition of trapping evil spirits near graveyards into bottles. 

I had actually expected to eat lunch before we’d visited the site; so I was too ready for this restaurant!  I should’ve heeded the banner advertising “Puffy Tacos.” I ordered the sampler plate, which included one mouth-watering puffy taco, but honestly, everything was delicious, including the margarita and lively conversation. 

Apparently, I’d obsessed about food and hunger too much to notice the model car collection at the register near the front door. We rode into the sunset, heading back to Austin. That day trip was just what the doctor ordered as far as mitigating my February blues.

As we approached the African American museum, I thought of an inverted step pyramid. My sister informed me that the design was inspired by an African headdress. Whichever the case, I loved the stylish modernity of this ancient shape.

The first time I’d ever visited the Washington monument as a child, we only celebrated Black History Week. Now, we had Black History month and the Washington monument served as good landmark for the African American museum. We were very optimistic about our wait time since there was no line at the door. 

In fact, the woman at the information desk had told us that we would have to spend 22 hours to see everything. The four upper levels were dedicated to some aspect of community and  culture. I knew I wouldn’t be able to see everything. I especially wanted to see the more historical parts, which were housed three floors below the main level. We only waited 35 minutes, versus 60, to “go back in time” as we descended into the 1400s by  elevator.

I snapped a picture of this photo collage that decorated the stairs. I definitely remember when, then presidential candidate, Bill Clinton, played his sax on the Arsenio Hall show back when I was a senior in college; I hadn’t seen the Oprah episode when she interviewed writer Toni Morrison; nor was I alive when actress Marsha Hunt made the iconic Afro statement in the stage production of “Hair.” 

The first of many ironies I discovered involved sugar. Slave labor produced 90% of the world’s sugar in 1787. That “ingredient” still plagues many black and working poor communities today, from the contribution to a bad diet to diabetes.

I spent far more time reading the captions and blurbs aloud, which were scattered among the artifacts and photos, than taking photos of my own. This was mainly to help my vision-impaired sister, but also, I wanted to be more engaged in the exhibit than to document it. So, we passed through several areas dealing with the transportation of slaves and I was surprised that Portugal, at an estimated 5.8 million slaves, had transported the most.

My sister thought that made perfect sense because DNA testing showed part of our ancestry was Portuguese. As if it was not horrifying enough to be subjected to the harsh conditions of the Middle Passage, but to then be raped and impregnated as well.

Cotton, one of the slave labor cash crops that my family, black  friends, and I often use as the motivation to succeed in life so we won’t have to pick it to survive, had its shrine as well.

The next level up in the gallery dealt with post slavery. Just as I was telling my family that the first rise of the klan occurred during this time period, we saw a section dedicated to that group. The exhibit didn’t go into depth about how the newly freed slaves caused poor whites to lose status.

One of my favorite pictures was of a mother and daughter who sat on the court steps with a newspaper, which had screaming headlines about desegregating schools.

Inevitably, everyone desires the American dream of freedom to thrive in this land of opportunity; so we black women have also fought to be heard. 

One of many powerful black women, Angela Davis has spent her entire life as an activist educator and writer. I use the word “activist” rather than “radical” because I don’t think there’s anything radical about wanting to be free. That’s just common sense, for which some people are feared and given negative labels.

Just to prove how I was more invested in experiencing my visit than making a photographic record of it, I inadvertently chopped off some of Obama’s quote, but I’ve typed it in its entirety here: “Change will not come if we wait for some other person or…some other time.  We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.  We are the change that we seek.” 

That statement resonated with me because it dovetails beautifully with both my independent nature and my newfound desire to remain on the right side of natural selection.The only thing I’d add to Ms. Giovanni’s statement is, “The worse person to lie to is yourself.” Even though I’m an analytical person, I’m just as prone to “confirmation bias” as anyone else. That’s when it’s very useful to keep my eyes on the prize and strive for as much greatness as I can, given the situation.

I braved the unknown in the dark to find our meeting place for this mid-week night hike along Lady Bird Lake, starting on the East side.  Although the organizer set the rendezvous point at a place that would be closed by the time we got there, in FRONT of that place was an international hostel that was well lit and accessible by GPS. Yet, I parked a block and a half away because I wasn’t sure of where the meeting place was. Fortunately, I saw a group of people standing to the side of the hostel, looking awkward, which emboldened me to ask if they were the meetup hiking group. 

We were a small, eclectic group with whom I found common ground. I knew right off the back that one woman was from Egyptian descent. Another woman had just moved from NC, my home state. One guy had both a sales and engineering background; so of course I made my attempt to recruit him and planned to send him the official referral link. One woman and I had the same game plan of strategically parking a block and a half away where there were streetlights and no danger of parking violations. 

Our representative dog was an energetic, year-old puppy, Roanoke. As much as I liked the calm look in his eyes, I didn’t want to get pounced upon without warning.  People switched out walking him, although they had to brace themselves for the sudden bursts of running and pouncing.

Since we started on the East side, we ended at a prime location on the West side–the Stevie Ray Vaughn statue. One guy had never heard of him.  We all encouraged him to look him up on YouTube. We double timed it back to starting point. It’s like we all had the same idea to wrap things up and go back home.