This painting by a local artist hangs above a friend’s fireplace (one of those cool ones you find so often down here that sits in the middle of the room and is double-sided). You can see that a lady is holding a nutria in it. We argue about whether or not it’s supposed to be “Mary-esque,” some sort of modern-day bayou pieta. I say yes. I mean look how happy she is, and the gold surrounding her, halo-like. He says no. It’s just a woman holding a swamp rat.
I think I’m right.
I recently read Look Homeward, Angel, by Thomas Wolfe (not to be confused with Tom Wolfe, of Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test fame). It’s the one and only book I’ve ever read of his, and while it took me a little while to get into it, I ended up really enjoying it. Wolfe was from North Carolina, and died at the early age of 38. He was a contemporary of Faulkner and Hemingway, with Faulkner reportedly calling him the best writer of their generation. His writing is lush and wordy, so it doesn’t surprise me that Faulkner would be a fan.
Look Homeward, Angel is heavily autobiographical. It’s pretty much the story of his childhood and his family and at times I found it hard to read because I knew that. I simply couldn’t divorce what I knew the reaction was to his book when he published it from what I was reading. He had some harsh words and indictments for just about everyone around him and he didn’t shy away at all from writing what he really thought of people in this book.
The other book I own of his, but have yet to read, is You Can’t Go Home Again, which is all about this reaction that his family and friends had to this book being published while he, and they, were still alive. As someone who’s thought from time to time about writing similarly barely disguised “fiction,” it’s an interesting cautionary tale. Wolfe was ostracized after Angel was released. Lucky for him, I guess, You Can’t Go Home Again was published after his death, so any lingering resentments would have had to be taken up grave-side.
Here’s one beautiful passage from the book, in a section about the death of one of his brothers:
“… we can’t turn back the days that have gone. We can’t turn life back to the hours when our lungs were sound, our blood hot, our bodies young. We are a flash of fire — a brain, a heart, a spirit. And we are three-cents-worth of lime and iron — which we cannot get back.” — Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel, p. 461
At the New Orleans Museum of Art right now, you can find an amazing installation in the entry way. By street artist Swoon (you can see her in the fascinating, mind-bending documentary Welcome to the Gift Shop), Thalassa stretches throughout the foyer right up to the sky. It’s beautiful and breathtaking in person. And it’ll be there until September 25. Highly recommended.
Yes, today’s the 4th day of May, but my goodness, the weather was divine. Springtime in New Orleans is sporadic, spontaneous, capricious. In short, it keeps us guessing. It comes and goes, often popping up like this, late, way past time when we thought we’d see it again this year. 70 degree sunny skies with next-to-no humidity. Hard not to stay out in the courtyard with the sun on my face, needing even a lil sweatshirt to keep me warm. Hard not to let the mind wander, and wonder, on days like today. But easy to be reminded of why I love it here so much.
Here’s some pretty spring-like flowers I snapped in the Quarter:
I have long been fascinated with miniatures — of anything, really. I loved all the tiny accessories my Barbies came with when I was little and dutifully kept track of each and every little rubbery high heel she had. I especially loved my Barbie kitchen and all the attendant itty-bitty forks, knives, spoons, glasses and plates it came with. I like anything that’s cut down to the smallest size possible. Not sure why, really, but I just do.
So when I heard about the ‘tit Rex parade — that’s short for Petite Rex — which rolled Saturday in the Bywater, I knew I’d likely just discovered something new to love about New Orleans. Billing itself as the Crescent City’s only micro-krewe, the “floats” in ‘tit Rex live up to their name. They are all miniature, and pulled down the street by pieces of string. And they are masterpieces of the tiny! Such vivid detail and hard work clearly went into all of them. I was so excited to see them all.
And not only are the floats teensy, but they give away miniature throws, as well. No beaded necklaces and unsightly plastic cups here, no. Instead, if you’re lucky, you’ll get lovely little hand-beaded bracelets and tiny “coconuts.” I love this parade!
I was too excited to actually photograph any of the floats, but you can see an example of an amazing one here: http://titrexparade.blogspot.com/
And here’s a photo of my catches from the parade:
So good. Crawfish are, without a doubt, one of my favorite things about living in New Orleans. I was able to run right down the street today around lunchtime and pick these up from a little neighborhood seafood joint, and then enjoy them (and the nearly 80 degree weather) in my courtyard. Couldn’t be more pleased…
Another “only in New Orleans” moment… Found this set of giant hand-made wings hanging abandoned on a fence near my house, alongside such other discarded items as a broken vacuum cleaner, random clothes and shoes, an oriental rug, and a mattress. You better believe I snapped ‘em right up. Here comes Mardi Gras!
