Indianapolis Museum of Art Blog

Well now. Who hasn’t screamed those words? Maybe at a parent that wouldn’t let you go out Friday, Saturday, and Sunday night?

“There’s nothing I could do Sunday night that I couldn’t have done Friday night and twice Saturday night. You’re ruining my life. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Door slams.

Or maybe at a brother or sister that never brought the car back by 2 like they promised so you could go to the big away game. The bus left at 2:15 and they brought the car back at 2:45.

“You knew I needed the car by 2. You stayed late at Kathy’s just so I would miss the bus. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Door slams.

Or maybe at someone you spent 18 months dating thinking all was going well until one day instead of “I love” you it’s “I do love you, in my own way.”

“In your own way? What the hell is that supposed to mean? In your own way?! I gave up a spot on ‘So You Think I You Can Dance’ because you couldn’t stand to be apart. Why don’t you go love the grill of a big red truck in your own way? I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” Door slams. Hopefully on his snotty-assed nose.

Enough about people. What about plants? Read the rest of this entry »

I am ready. Ready to have my house back. Ready to throw everything out of our holding greenhouse. Ready to empty the root cellar. Ready to get on with Spring. By April the urge to throw every surviving plant in my house outside is all consuming. I’m tired of them demanding water (the sink is right there, get it yourself). I’m tired of leaves falling. I’m tired of the ones that just barely hang on so you give them more time but they never really do anything. I’m tired of them taking more than their rightful share of space. So when May arrives each day is marked off the calendar as we approach that most glorious day of all days – the day of frost-free weather.

People who do not garden fail to have even the slightest notion of how important that date is. This is the day when the dahlias can go in the ground. This is the day when the tomatoes can be planted. This is the day the houseplants can go out on the porch. THIS IS THE DAY WHEN WE GET OUR HOUSES BACK! For two months I’ve been fighting with the Enstetes in my laundry room for access to the dryer. I finally cut a leaf off one of them this week. At the same time I am so grateful that my two biggest are still alive and growing. They are actually pushing against the ceiling (say a little prayer for some of the smaller ones in the plant room). In just a few weeks their huge burgundy and green leaves will bring tropical splendor back to my yard. That’s one of them in the background of this picture.

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Get up on the dance floor and boogie til you just can’t boogie no more. No designer symbolizes the 70’s like Halston. Disco dresses, halter tops, beads, and sequins. Lots of Halston red. Niloo Imami-Paydar (IMA Curator of Textile and Fashion Arts) has put together quite a show of pieces from the early 70’s to the early 80’s for Simply Halston. Now this ain’t gonna be no high-brow fashion critique. I was asked for my opinion, and sister, that’s what yer gonna get. These days my idea of fashion is matching my favorite chicken with my favorite vintage shantung silk jacket. (Thanks to Brad Bell for the feathers and silk shot.)

But Halston, well he had a bit more going on. Bear in mind that like many of us he was a product of the Midwest – born in Iowa and raised in Evansville, Indiana. That’s in southern Indiana for those of you who think the state ends in Bloomington or Brown County. If you remember from my bio I was born and raised in southern Indiana so I have a certain extra amount of pride when one of our own does well in the big world. Read the rest of this entry »

I love my DNA! I love your DNA! I love everybody’s DNA (Is that a double helix in your pocket or are you glad to see me?). It’s what makes each of us our own little traveling Freak Show. I have always been interested in genetic diversity when I think about it. I grew up in a family of 9 children. Alright, alright, I will tell you. I am 8 of 9. My parents both had essentially black hair in their youth, but the 9 offspring? Let me see – black, dirty blonde, black, dark brunette, black, auburn, brunette, coffee bean brown, dirty blonde. Can you tell which one is me? I swear in the 5th grade if someone said my hair was black I would say, “No, it’s coffee bean brown” (shut up Chad). I got it from a hair dye ad. It’s no wonder I was picked after the ugly girls for softball.

I also remember a picture of my oldest brother taken with one of those Bazooka Joe Bubble Gum cameras – I am so damn old and this is not the Joe of my youth. He was sitting out in the yard in jeans and a flannel shirt I think, about 8 probably. When I was about 6 I would cry because people would say it wasn’t me. Read the rest of this entry »

Well, I hate to go on and on about my somewhat dysfunctional relationship with Spring but…….. Bloody hell it’s April and why isn’t it warm yet? I want to catch Spring Fever. Mind you I am not interested in a repeat of last year’s meteorological disaster. Normal highs right now should be in the mid-50’s. If I get a day that’s 45 and sunny I’m practically kissing the ground in joy. You need sun, 60° temps, and some balmy air to catch Spring Fever. The official first day of Spring was March 20. No Spring Fever. On March 11 at 2:27 pm I found my first crocus in bloom. No Spring Fever. Our first daffodils really only came into full bloom about a week ago.

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