, ,

Happy New Year from the National Gallery’s Sculpture Garden

And good-bye 2020. Universally deemed a dumpster fire or an unprintable act among consenting adults, the year hauled a lot of crap in its wake. But there were unexpected benefits, too. I slowed down. That was good.

Cheval Rouge, by Alexander Calder

As for my art rambles, once again, they’ve been cut short by rising pandemic numbers in DC. Fortunately, I was able to visit the sculpture garden several times this summer before it closed again in November. After months of seeing the sculptures behind bars, I was thrilled to be reunited with my old friends.

If you’ve been here, you likely have favorites, too. For now, though, come and say hello to mine.

Graft, by Roxy Paine

How can you not love Alexander Calder’s 1974 Cheval Rouge? With its four up thrust necks and five sturdy haunches, this big red horse invariably makes me smile. But then, I’m a huge Calder fan. The man was a genius, and, despite being widely known, his work has never become the cliché of say, Georgia O’Keefe or Frida Kahlo, so widely reproduced and found on everything from socks to tote bags. Don’t get me wrong, I love their work too, but it seems to have suffered from having become part of the pop vocabulary in a way Calder’s hasn’t. How can you not fall for a guy who says, “I like to make things that are fun to look at, that have no propaganda value whatsoever.”

Lurking just behind Calder’s red horse is Roxy Paine’s Graft, 2008-2009. This piece haunts me in a way I can’t fully explain. I first encountered a Paine “dendroid” outside the Modern Art Museum of Fort Worth and was blown away. The thing vibrated in the hot Texas air and seemed oddly suited to that state, so full of enormous things, both manmade and natural.

Paris Metro Entrance, by Hector Guimard

Among the newest installations at the sculpture garden, Graft is equally jarring and seductive. I love the way the shiny branches stand out in front of the evergreen trees. Round knots dot the trunk and, after a time, we see that the sculpture has two halves, one stately and orderly in its progression toward the sky, and the other twisted and unruly. The two sides are held together in a kind of suspended animation – a graft – that fuses human kind’s urge to alter nature with its sometimes unexpected consequences .

Moving on, we’ll walk past Hector Guimard’s glorious Art Nouveau entrance to the Paris Metro, and, putting off coffee at the Pavilion Café until later, we come to an unexpected grove of trees, partially enclosed by a low stone wall. The pavement ends and we find ourselves walking on a forest floor. Here large rocks invite us to sit and contemplate the secret treasure of the garden, Marc Chagall’s ethereal 1969 stone and glass mosaic, Orphée.

Despite its size and weight—ten by 17 feet and weighing 1,000 pounds—the piece appears delicate, shimmering in the shaded space. The composition centers on the figure of Orpheus charming animals with his lute, while the winged horse, Pegasus and the Three Graces float by him. Instead if a lute, though, I see Orpheus cradling the 2019 World Series Trophy won by the Washington Nationals. Maybe I’m just starved for baseball.

Orphee, by Marc Chagall

Anyway, in the lower left, a group of people wait to cross a large body of water. Is this the River Styx crossing to the afterlife? Later, I learned that the artist meant show the immigration of Europeans to America and also his own escape from Nazi-occupied France during World War II.

In the lower right, two lovers are sweetly entwined in a sylvan scene. Are they Adam and Eve? Orpheus and Eurydice? Turns out Chagall, on a 1968 visit to his DC patrons Evelyn and John Nef, decided to create this mosaic for their garden. There it lived until Evelyn donated it to the museum in 2009. When she first saw the work, Evelyn asked Chagall if the lovers were meant to be her and John. Chagall said, “If you like.” He must have been fond of these friends and patrons to show them in such a sweetly beguiling way.

Orphee, detail of lovers

Emerging from the grove, we see a huge typewriter eraser in mid-swipe, as if erasing the grass. Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen’s 1999 sculpture gives us an instant Alice in Wonderland feeling: suddenly we’re only inches tall. It’s such a funny, antique thing; does anyone even know what it is? Next time the garden is open, I plan to ask some young people. It’s likely only the odd typewriter collecting hipster will know.

Typewriter Eraser, Scale X, by Claes Oldenburg and Coosje van Bruggen

My last favorite is a new one to me. On other visits I’d somehow missed Joan Miro’s 1977 Personnage Gothique, Oiseau-Éclair, translated as Gothic Personage, Bird-Flash. I’d known Miro primarily as a painter, but this work—one of the largest—is among a number of sculptures he made after turning 70.  Thoughtfully placed in front of two tulip poplars, the work suggests a figure with floppy cascading legs and a box for a body. The box contains a faintly traced image of a bird, and perched on top of the box is another bird-like element. Walking around the piece, the bottom half begins to resemble a shark, with its thrusting pointed nose, but the folds suggest leathery skin, very unlike a shark’s smooth body. There’s an echo of the Roxy Paine tree here: a structure both natural and man-made, a junction between the geometric box, the molten folds, and the caught image of the bird. Perhaps the bird has escaped its image in the box and is about to take wing? Whatever you see here, the piece is appealingly enigmatic, very much like Miro’s works on canvas and paper.

Personnage Gothique, Oiseau-Éclair, by Joan Miro

Unable to resist finding out more, I learned that Miro had cast a donkey collar and a cardboard box as the major elements. I never would have guessed, but then, I’ve rarely come across a donkey collar in my travels, being almost exclusively a city gal.

Now you’ve seen my favorites among the many treasures here. The gates are closed and I must content myself again with staring in through the bars. I’m told the gates will swing wide in March—another good thing about the coming year—and I’ll be free to visit my old friends. And have coffee at the Pavilion Café.

Hope you can join me.

by

Annapolis Secret Garden Tour

 

A Secret Garden behind the Two-O-One Bed and Breakfast, 201 Prince Georges Street

A Secret Garden behind the Two-O-One Bed and Breakfast, 201 Prince Georges Street

Each year, Hammond-Harwood House, an Anglo-Palladian historic house and museum in downtown Annapolis, affords the area’s voyeurs access to charming gardens hidden away behind its diminutive houses. Thirteen lovely gardens, some tiny, some grand, provide myriad gardening ideas and the pure enjoyment of seeing green spaces only the homes’ owners usually enjoy.

Reading in the garden behind the Annapolis Bookstore

Reading in the garden behind the Annapolis Bookstore

The self-guided tour starts with the Hammond-Harwood House’s own sweeping garden, an elegant space dating from the mid-nineteenth century. Down the street behind the Annapolis Bookstore (indie bookstore lovers take note: it’s well worth a visit, especially with kids) is a fanciful garden filled with a “book house,” made, yes, of books, and various fairy-tale creatures tucked among the hydrangeas and daylilies. We ran into the owner, Mary Adams, who, when asked if she’d made the garden herself, demurred, “Yes, but I had help.” From elves, no doubt. www.annapolisbookstore.com.

Koi and terrapin at Two-O-One B&B

Koi and terrapin at Two-O-One B&B

Next stop was the Two-O-One Bed and Breakfast on Prince George Street, part of which dates from 1740 as outbuilding for the “baby” Brice house next door. In 1780 it was expanded and given to a member of the Stockett family, who owned it until 1985. A sunny garden room opens up to a pathway leading to a large greenhouse, built by Adam Hill, the last of the Stockett family owners, who was known for growing chrysanthemums. An outdoor dining table under a porch sits by a pond full of huge koi who share it with some handsome terrapins. www.201bb.com

The garden behind the Chase-Lloyd House at 22 Maryland Avenue is a sweeping space featuring a twenty-year-old hosta garden sheltered by exotic zelcova, scholar, and goldenrain trees. But the best part of the garden was the old woman who joined us on one of the benches to chat. She’ll turn 90 in December and she swore she could not figure out how she’d gotten so old. She grew up on a 300-acre farm in Montgomery County and lives, not far from her children, in the “Chase House,” as it’s now known, a residence for elderly women established by Hester Ann Chase Ridout in 1886. Ms. Chase hoped the generations of women who lived in the house would “find a retreat from the vicissitudes of life.” Our lovely lady seemed vicissitude-free to us.

Succulent basket

Succulent basket

Once the kitchen to the Chase-Lloyd House, 235 King George Street is now home to Kathryn and Rev. Richardson Libby. The Reverend, president of the Hammond-Harwood House Association, greeted us as we entered this tiny front garden space (not exactly a “secret”) through the rose-covered archway. Boxwood, peonies, weeping cherry, and an espaliered apple tree flourish under the watchful eye of St. Francis. The Rev. admitted to enjoying people-watching on King George Street while sitting in his pocket garden.

Fountain at 248 King George Street

Fountain at 248 King George Street

Next came 248 King George Street: Updated recently to join the upper and lower gardens, the rather formal space features an art deco-style fountain, the style of which is echoed in the carriage house’s medallion. The handsome garden gates reminded us of ones we’d seen in Oaxaca, Mexico. As I drooled over the carriage house as a potential writing space, I asked the owner what work he did in the office and he said, “not much.” Nice work if you can get it. . .

 

Garden at 154 Prince George Street

Garden at 154 Prince George Street

154 Prince George Street showed us a very different garden, all informality, intimacy, and homey experimentation. The garden perimeter is defined by magnolia and holly, with fig trees, roses and hydrangeas throughout. Potted plants give the garden scale and add to the feeling of being nestled in a bouquet of lemon/lime, kumquat, and gardenia.

Down the street at 221 Prince George, the owners have brilliantly employed mirrors to expand the space. Using a mantelpiece inset with mirror was a clever welcoming touch. The sunny garden rooms are framed in pyracantha, dogwoods, and snowflake viburnum.

Mirrored fireplace at 221 King George Street

Mirrored fireplace at 221 King George Street

The artist’s studio at 220 King George Street has convinced me to redouble my efforts to find a writing space, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to find one with a view of the Naval Academy Chapel Dome.

A triplex built in the mid-to-late 19th century by an admiral for his three daughters, the house at 244 King George Street is often referred to as “The Porches.” The focal point of the garden here is a refreshing bit of modernism in this very antique city, a sculpture called “Family Gathering,” by Monk.

Sculpture by Monk

Sculpture by Monk

Built between 1761 and 1764, the Peggy Stewart House at 207 Hanover Street opens out onto just under half an acre of camellias, nandinas, and boxwoods – a leafy retreat in the middle of the city. On the terrace are potted hibiscus, mint, fig, and rosemary. The program tells us that the unusual large shrub (or small tree) is an osmanthus, or “false holly,” which has two leaf shapes on the same plant. Under the osmanthus are ginger and hellebores. A one-time swimming pool has been filled in to create a shade garden with a birdbath. Much less risk of liability, one presumes, from bathing birds than humans. And the upkeep is much less expensive.

See you there next year? www.HammondHarwoodHouse.org

 

 

by